Fifty years of a Londoner's life

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FIFTY YEARS OF A
LONDONER'S LIFE

H. G. HiBBERT
Photograph by Cavendish Morton

FIFTY YEARS OF A
LONDONER'S LIFE

BY

H. G. HIBBERT

WITH A PREFACE BY

T. P, O'CONNOR

1

WITH EIGHTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS

522410

1^ . 5.^/

LONDON
GRANT RICHARDS LTD.

ST MARTIN'S STREET
LEICESTER SQUARE

MDCCCCXVI

To

MY FRIEND

CARYL WILBUR

r

1/

PREFACE

If this book and its author make the same appeal to the
pubhc as they do to me, then this certainly will be
one of the books of the year. As to the author, I have
known him for nearly a quarter of a century ; he was once
my colleague, and a more energetic, competent, trained
journalist I have never met, nor a more loyal and steadfast
friend. His book is an epitome of the side of journalistic
work to which he has devoted most of his professional life
— though not all, for Mr Hibbert belongs to the same old-
fashioned school of journalists as myself, who had to go
through the severe mill, and to turn their hands to everything
that turned up, from an execution to a grand opera. But the
subject that has attracted his attention more than any other
is the stage. For many years he spent some hours of every
night of the year in some form or other of a theatre or a music
hall ; I believe he is one of the men who would prefer, if
stranded in a small town, going to a penny gaff rather than
remain amid the futile gossip of a smoke-room. This passion
for the play is due to an inexhaustible interest in the many
forms of art which the stage presents, and to an equally in-
exhaustible interest in the multiform and often thrilling drama
that goes on within a play — ^namely, the men and women be-
hind the scenes. Add to these qualities a passion for accuracy
— a memory for names, dates, plays, even an interest in
the financial side of dramatic production — and you will

PREFACE

understand how Mr Hibbert is a walking encyclopaedia of
everything and of everybody who for close upon forty years
have figured before the public. This book, into which he
has concentrated thousands of articles contributed to various
journals, may well stand as perhaps the most complete and
the most trustworthy record of the stage for recent years.

To me, however, the chief interest of the book is its long
series of portraits of the favourites of the public, not merely
as they appeared before the footlights, but on their other side
— what they were as men and women when they doffed the
buskin and wiped off the paint. That world behind the
scenes owes little as yet to literature, for the romances in
which the mimimers have appeared, have hitherto been of
either of two classes — ^those which professed to paint the
sordid side and those which have depicted the people of the
stage in the alluring colours of the matinee girl. Mr Hibbert
is too sane and too conscientious a writer to describe the men
and women of the stage, most of whom he has known per-
sonally, from the one angle or the other. They live in his
pages, not in lurid colours, but just as they are — ^men and
women — living for the most part the commonplace and
regular lives of the typical British family man or woman,
with their own corroding cares and devastating sorrows in
the midst of their absorbing work ; weeping behind the scenes
when they have to smile to the public ; spending, in hours of
exhausting labour, the time that the rash public imagines to
be devoted to mere pleasure-seeking ; with more ups and
downs — ^largely owing to the precariousness of employment,
which is the curse of the actor's or actress's life — ^than those of
the average man of the other professions ; and often rising to
dazzling heights of popularity and wealth to descend, owing

vi

PREFACE

to change of taste, or to loss of health, to the abysses of
poverty and premature death.

There are chapters in this book, accordingly, which it is
impossible to read without a quickening of the breath, with-
out encountering many of the most tragic ironies of life — little
and big. All of the chief figures are known to men of my
generation ; most of them even to this generation. And as I
read in these fascinating pages their real lives, learn their
real selves, there comes to me the always saddening thought
about the stage performer — ^th^t these beings of light and joy,
who have made so many of our hours pass in tense and fine
emotion or in healthy laughter, or amid the rapture that
comes from fine elocution or melodious singing, have had in
their own lives so little of the happiness they gave to others.
How, often, they have vanished, forgotten and neglected,
with such poor return for all the past hours of happiness,
the imperishable memories, they have left to their fellow-
beings.

Some of the portraits are very striking. I refer the reader
particularly to the life story of Jenny Hill — " the Vital
Spark," as she was called — ^whose dash to the stage used to
set so many hearts beating with expectation of really hilarious
enjoyment. There is a little scene with George Leyboume
— who once set all the town roaring — in his closing days
of illness, which is as dramatic as any scene the pen of a
dramatist has painted of poignant pitifulness. I might go
on referring to page after page of this kind, but as most
pages have some such fascination for me, I might well make
my preface as long as the book.

I have dwelt on the dramatic side of the book, for it is its
chief feature, but not its only one. Though provincial by

vii

PREFACE

birth, Mr Hibbert became, like myself, the Cockney more
devoted to the great capital than many of those born within
its frontiers. London constantly is the background of the
whole volume, and many a time there rises that strange old
London — now vanished — through which I lived myself in
the seventies and the eighties. It is an almost incredible
London, though so near, to those of this generation, with its
public-houses open almost at all hours, its pot-houses, its
poor buildings, its general air of a survival from the hiccough-
ing and roystering eighteenth century. Mr Hibbert gives
a realistic though restrained picture, and the old city of dead
things lives again.

Finally, there are pages which describe the life of the old-
time journalist, with figures now renowned, such as that of
Barrie, once a subordinate in an ancient newspaper office.
That school of journalists is now almost as dead a thing as
other institutions of those past days ; and again one has a
picture of a past in newspaper evolution, which will be
interesting to a new generation. I feel, in standing between
the reader and those pages, like the Manager that comes
before the curtain in II Pagliacci ; like him I must with-
draw before I have kept the audience too long waiting. So
" Let the curtain rise " and the moving figures in Mr Hibbert's
dramatic pages make their entrance.

T. P. O'Connor.

viu

CONTENTS

PAGE

CHAPTER I
A London Backwater . . . . . i

The Honourable Society of Gray's Inn ; and Gray's Inn
Society— W. S. Gilbert's Early Days— Poets at Play—
Nesbit of The Times

CHAPTER II
An Old Stock Company . . . .7

George Dance's First Play — Mrs Kendal's Girlhood —
Suicide of Walter Montgomery — Cremorne Gardens

CHAPTER III

In a Provincial Newspaper Office . . -15

The Beginnings of J. M. Barrie — Stories of Dean Hole —
Bendigo the Prize-fighter — Bernal Osborne's Wit

CHAPTER IV

Of Critics, Old and New . . . .23

Clement Scott's Influence — Lyceum First Nights —
Irving and Wilson Barrett — The Fight of La Dame

aux Cam 6 lias

CHAPTER V

The Story of the Music Hall . . .32

From Pot-house to Palace — Early Comic Songs —
" Champagne Charley " — Charles Dickens at the
Music Halls

CHAPTER VI

The London Pavilion . . . . .40

Concerts in a Stable-yard — Dr Kahn's Museum — Early

Joint Stock Companies and their Fate — The Oxford

and the Tivoli

ix

CONTENTS

PAGE

CHAPTER VII

The Old Mogul . . . . .46

Nell Gwynne in Drury Lane — The Chairman — Dan
Leno's First Appearance — Marie Lloyd's Noviciate

CHAPTER VIII

The Vital Spark . . . . .51

Jenny Hill ; A Sordid Girlhood — A Dramatic Debut
at the London Pavilion — A " Memorable At Home " —
Bessie Bellwood

CHAPTER IX

Music Hall Society . . . . .56

Dan Leno's Drawing-room — The " Great Lion
Comique " — The Modesty of Genius — A Series of
Sisters — Peer and Peri

CHAPTER X

East End Entertainment . . . • 63

The Britannia Festival — " Saloons " and their Style —
Champagne Charley and Hamlet — PaviUon Celebrities —
Grand Opera at the Standard — Kate Vaughan's Origin

CHAPTER XI

The Lost Theatres of London . . -70

Old-time Death-traps — Value of Theatre Property —
Growth of the Suburban Houses — Boucicault at
Astley's — Adah Isaacs Menken — Mrs Langtry and the
Methodists — Mr Keith of New York

CHAPTER XII

Round Leicester Square . . . .83

Early Victorian Horrors — Prize-fighters at the
Alhambra — Leotard and Blondin — King Edward and
the Empire — Winston Churchill — Prudes on the Prowl
— Murder of Amy Roselle

CHAPTER XIII

Singers who are silent . . . -91

The first " Great " Men of the Music Hall — Lions
Comique — Music Hall Morals and Manners — Saved
by a Song

X

CONTENTS

PAGB

CHAPTER XIV

Half-a-Century of Song . . . -97

The Ditties of Demos — Slap Bang^ here we are again —
The Tichborne Claimant—" Motto " Songs

CHAPTER XV

Ballets and Ballet Dancers .... 104

The Cancan at the Alhambra — Police Interference —
Some Old-time Favourites — Genee's Arrival — Kate
Vaughan and the Gaiety School — Booming Maud '
Allan

CHAPTER XVI
American Cousins ..... 113

Early American Visitors to London — Augustin Daly and
Charles Frohman — The American Chorus Girl — Edna
May's Girlhood — Negro Minstrelsy — Mr Gladstone as
a Comic Singer

CHAPTER XVII

Night Clubs ...... 122

The Receptions of Madam Cornelys — Early Victorian
Night Houses — The Corinthian Club — Two Lovely
Black Eyes — Sergeant Ballantyne behind the Scenes

CHAPTER XVIII

Dead-heads and Claquers .... 128

How Theatres are packed — Some Subterfuges of Seat-
beggars — Henry Irving and the Bailiff — The Chorus
that sang too soon — M. Quelquechose, Organiser of
Success

CHAPTER XIX

Princes and Palaces ..... 135

The " Royal Command " to the Music Hall — A Noble
" Chairman " — King Edward a Prisoner — Dan Leno at
Court— A Terrible Tragedy

xi

CONTENTS

PAGE

CHAPTER XX
Music Hall Agency ..... 142

Hugh Jay Didcott — His Extravagance — Where Cele-
brities were discovered — Many Marriages — The
Quarrels of Artists and Managers

CHAPTER XXI

Counterfeit Presentments .... 147

Stories of Stage Caricature — Oscar Wilde in Comedy
and Opera — The " darned mounseer " — Irving and
his Imitators — The Sensitive Sultan

CHAPTER XXII
One-horse Shows ..... 153

Some Popular Entertainers — Cheer, Boys, Cheer —
" Protean " Artists — Henry Irving as a Spiritualist —
Frederick Maccabe — Death in the Workhouse

CHAPTER XXIII
Empire-building ..... 158

The All- Conquering Music Hall — Edward Moss's Boy-
hood— How a Piano was procured — His Vast Fortune,
and Early Death

CHAPTER XXIV
Notes — or Gold ?..... 162

Failure of the Royal English Opera — Palace Theatre
Flotation — Its Early Struggles, and Eventual Profits —
Living Pictures — And one of Charles Morton

CHAPTER XXV
Feverish First Nights ..... 168

How a great Journalist died — The Marquis of Queens-
berry on Marriage — Guy Domville — Actors' En-
counters with Audiences — Poet and Painter fight —
An Interview with Queen Victoria

xii

CONTENTS

PAGB

CHAPTER XXVI

Some Editors . . . . . - ^11

A Famous Philanderer — Practical John HoUingshead —
His Gaiety Confession — The Marquis de Leuville —
Augustus Hams and Literature — Edward Ledger as
Lucullus

CHAPTER XXVII

The Westminster Aquarium . . . 185

Church and Stage — Labouchere as a Showman —
Many Monsters — G5minastic Sensations — A Fight with
the County Council — M'Dougall

CHAPTER XXVIII

Concerning Choristers .... 193

Antiquity of the Show Girl — The First " Professional
Beauty " — The Gaiety Stage Door — Erudite Chorus
Girls — Training a Dancer — From the Chorus Room to
Fame

CHAPTER XXIX

Musical Comedy ..... 202

The First Musical Comedy — In Town — How " Owen
Hall" arrived — Collaboration according to Gilbert and
Sullivan — The George Edwardes Method

CHAPTER XXX

The Salaries of Celebrities . . . . 207

Harry Lauder's Figure — Stage Stars in Variety —
What Premiere Danseuses earn — Red-nosed Comedians'
Reward

CHAPTER XXXI

Memorable Productions .... 215

Gamblers in Management — Expenses and Earnings of
West End Theatres — The Romance of Charley' s Aunt —
The Brave Days of Opera BouflEe — Irving's Extrava-
gance— The Merry Widow

xiii

CONTENTS

PAGE

CHAPTER XXXII

A Study in Stoll ..... 229

Manager at Thirteen — Leyboume's Last Days — The

Fantastic Frock Coat — Lessons in French — Literary

Efforts

CHAPTER XXXIII

Society — Fifty Years Ago . . . . 234

The Beginnings of the Bancrofts — Robertson and his
Comedies — Tyranny of Burlesque — The Stage in the
Sixties

CHAPTER XXXIV
The Gaiety and its Managers .... 246
The Discovery of Nellie Farren — The Famous Quar-
tette— Edward Terry's Oddities — A Pageant of Dead
Drolls — The Real George Edwardes

CHAPTER XXXV
My Old Album ...... 257

Three Famous Clowns — The Queen's Jester — An In-
teresting Interview — Eccentricities of Celebrities — Mrs
Weldon and Gounod

CHAPTER XXXVI

The Romance of the Cinema . . . 265

Its Introduction to London — A Protege of the Music

Hall — Millions Made, and Lost — Its Wondrous Future

CHAPTER XXXVII
Meditations among the Tombs .... 271
A Fleet Street Graveyard — Fortunes sunk in News-
papers— Popular Fiction and its Purveyors — Comic
JournaUsm — The Halfpenny Press — The Sunday
Dinner of Demos

APPENDIX
Alhambra Chronology ..... 279
Empire Chronology ..... 282

INDEX 285

xiv

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

H. G. Hibbert

Frontispiece

Cremorne Gardens : " Maypole Dance "

To fact

^page 10

Cremorne Gardens ....

12

The Banqueting Hall : " Cremorne " .

14

George Ley bourne ....

36

Jenny Hill .....

52

John C. Heenan : " The Benicia Boy " .

76

The Panopticon : Predecessor of the Alhambra .

a

84

Howes and Cushing's Circus at the Alhambra .

86

George Leybourne : "Champagne Charley,''

Arthur Lloyd : " The German Band "

94

Arthur Orton : " The Tichborne Claimant "

»>

98

Harry Clifton : " Paddle your own Canoe " ; John

Hollingshead ....

102

Mabel Gray .....

122

Evans's Music Hall ....

124

Sergeant Ballantyne ....

126

"The Fight for the West End Stakes" (Charles

Morton, Edward Weston, Jonghmans and

Corri) .....

166

H. G. Hibbert {Caricature)

204

H. J. Byron .....

234

XV

CHAPTER I

A LONDON BACKWATER

The Honourable Society of Gray's Inn ; and Gray's Inn Society —
W. S. Gilbert's Early Days — Poets at Play — Nesbit of The Times

" 1^ "TOBODY," said a whimsical creature at a dinner-
^^ party the other night, " is born in London."

-^ ^ And he proceeded to prove his statement by
challenging the twenty guests. None of them could claim
London birth ! The Registrar-General just romances in
millions. You can almost certainly confound him any time
you range the fellows in the smoke-room at the club.

But, if London have no children, with what tenderness
and devotion her stepsons seek to attach her ! For my
own part, I have not left her side a clear week in five
and twenty years. Some kindly light led an uncouth
youngster from the provinces, still dazed by the splendour
of his appointment as acting editor of The Sunday Times,
to domicile in Gray's Inn. As I write, I look through the
same attic window, across the greensward where Francis
Bacon marches in solitude, eye averted from the outrage of
his Mount. Noise of the great world just reaches this quiet
backwater — in infinite seduction of alternative !

" Do you know," said Clement Scott to me a while before
his death, " that you are living in the very chambers which
W. S. Gilbert occupied as a briefless barrister, where he wrote
the Bab Ballads, and where he and I and Tom Hood used

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

to work on Fun ? " Gilbert enlarged the memory, as to a
" small and obscure coterie of young dramatists, critics and
journalists," which made his chambers its home. "We
called ourselves ' The Serious Family.' Tom Hood was the
head of the family, and I was the enfant Urrihle. I was
absolved from a two-guinea subscription in consideration of
supplying a Stilton cheese, a rump-steak pie, a joint of cold
beef, whisky and soda and bottled ale, every Saturday night
for the term of my natural life. It was the worst bargain,
financially, I ever made ; but I never regretted it." A
reference to the club books, which he preserved, drew from
Gilbert the mournful remark that he alone survived. His
tragical end, it proved, was very near, completing the tale of
" Jeff " Prowse, one of the convives, indiscriminately a rough
writer on sport and of tender verse :

" Oh ! friends, by whose side I was breasting
The billows that rolled to the shore—-
Ye are quietly, quietly resting.
To laugh and to labour no more."

Gilbert's joyous days in the Inn were busy days too. He
was London correspondent and dramatic critic, black-and-
white artist, fugitive poet and struggling dramatist. Whether
he still lingered in these shades when Pinero came to drive
a quill in the office of a neighbouring lawyer, as Dickens once
had done, I know not, nor whether the respectable William
Black ever came over from No. 2 South Square.

"The Serious Family" seems to correspond roughly
with the roll of Fun's contributors, though Gilbert's Hst is
notably richer by Artemus Ward. I lately heard a sordid
youngster appreciating a conversation he had heard as
" worth sixpence a line " to him. He clearly writes for

A LONDON BACKWATER

good papers. I recall Edmund Yates's World fivepence a
line as the high-water mark. But what would not any
editor pay for an eavesdropping of " The Serious Family " ?
I could beat my walls for an echo of its talk, and curse
them for their dumbness.

Among a hundred deliberately comic papers, Fun was
the one real, long-lived rival of Punch. Bumand left Fun
in dudgeon for its historic predecessor because the proprietor,
a picture-frame maker and glass merchant, declined Mokeiana ;
but Punch, on the other hand, scorned the Bah Ballads, and
so, Gilbert, undertaking to supply a column of matter and a
half-page picture weekly, joined Hood's happy party, which
included H. J. Byron, Tom Robertson, Arthur Sketchley
(the parson-player who became famous as the creator of
" Mrs Brown "), Henry Leigh, the sweet singer of Cockaigne,
Charles Godfrey Leland (The Breitmann-Balladist), Jeff
Prowse, J. F. Sullivan, with his eccentric art studies of the
^British workman. Matt Morgan the cartoonist, and Paul
Gray, a young Irish painter of rare promise, whose early death
from consumption seems to have eclipsed the sun a while in
Bohemia of the sixties. Matt Morgan came of theatrical
folk, and acted a while ere he became a scene-painter. He
bolted to America, it was said, because a wicked cartoon of
the Prince of Wales had caused offence. So it had. But
Morgan was in a general mess. He lived in America twenty
years, and died there.

Is there, I wonder, any part of London so stubbornly
resisting the march of time as Holborn does ? In 1825
The Sunday Times congratulated the authorities on " a step
toward civilisation " in the way of a macadamised pave-
ment. One of the last memorials of Dickens went lately,

3

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

indeed — ^the Bell Inn with its galleried yard ; and Ridlers —
swallowed up by new buildings, with its greater neighbour,
Furnival's Inn — ^where the city fathers still gathered of an
evening to drink hot brandy from huge tumblers, by the
old-fashioned shillingsworth ; varying it with gin punch.
When the Mercers' School fitted itself into Barnard's
Inn, the watchman, who for years had sung the hours
and the weather, was pensioned, but clung to his duties,
and would linger through the night in the shelter of the
closed gate, uttering his tunes until, with gentle force,
they moved him on. But his brother of Ely Place still
lingers ; and, in the extremity of that quaint cul de sac,
which long retained the quality of Sanctuary, the Church of
St Ethelreda is devoted to the Ancient Faith, as it was a
thousand years ago. On the last Sunday of each April it
speeds the procession of devout Catholics on their Walk from
Newgate to Tyburn, in the path of a hundred martyrs.
When for a few minutes the old houses of Staple Inn form
the background of the pilgrims, no city of the world could,
surely, set a picture so incongruous against the glare of the
nineteenth century.

My early visits to Staple Inn were to join the symposia of
a group of young Oxonians, full of the disposition to teach
old Fleet Street a new journalism. They would end a wild
night by sallying forth from the chambers wherein tradition
says Johnson wrote Rasselas at fast hand, to provide the
cost of his mother's funeral, and, in pyjamas, dance around
the plane-tree in the small hours. Maybe the ghost of their
great patron was not disturbed unkindly. "What, my
lads, are you for a frolic ? " said he, and joined a merry party
to Marylebone Gardens, urging them with voice and cudgel

4

A LONDON BACKWATER

destroy the fabric of an illumination which he declared
onestly below the advertised specification.
For years Nisbet of The Times was a resident of Staple
One night he crossed Holborn to borrow a bottle of
hisky, for, mirahile dictu, he had run out, and, in the terms
of the transaction, invited a contingent from Gray's Inn to
join a party made up of three poets, drunkenly defining God
— one major, one minor, and a " tweenie." Swinburne is
dead ; but the others live, and so they shall not be identified.
Nesbit was an amazing creature — a Scotch reporter, grim
and monstrous, who had attracted old Macdonald, manager
of The Times, the " die-hard " of the blundering Parnell
campaign. When Mowbray Morris, that dilettante critic of
the drama, who invented the immortal phrase " chicken and
champagne " retired, Macdonald gave the post to Nisbet,
who had never been credited with any special sjnnpathy for
the theatre, but who proved a sane and just judge. He ate
heartily, drank heartily, turned out literary work of all kinds
in prodigious quantities, and snatched intervals of deep
slumber anywhere, in the club, or at the theatre. His reading
was as voracious as his other appetites. He seemed able to
master any subject, and to write on it with authority. The
^^exual affinities of genius were his obsession. As a " side-
I^Hne " to The Times, and in characteristic indifference to its
protest, Nisbet edited one of the first of the halfpenny morn-
ing papers, choosing his men with rare insight, and producing
a paper of variety and interest. The Morning died, as the
earlier Despatch had died. But it is safe to say that but for
The Morning there would never have been a Daily Mail,
which annexed most of its ideas and many of its men.
Nisbet was the second of The Refer ee^s " Handbookers."

5

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

Barring experiments, there have been but four in nearly
thirty years. Not in the history of journalism has a feature
of such worth and importance maintained the distinction
that Henry Sampson, J. F. Nisbet, David Christie Murray
and Arnold White have given it.

More sedate is the social life of the Inns to-day. Never
more, I suppose, will a porter waking from his cups at three
o'clock in the morning bethink himself that he forgot to ring
Curfew, and noisily repair his error. Never again shall we
see a world-famous comedian ride home in the small hours
from the Artists' Ball at Chelsea, astride the horse he had
attached to himself on deposit of a sovereign, from the wreck
of his hansom. And, certainly, no more will one travel to
the City for a penny beside a jolly coachman who drove the
first bus over Holborn Viaduct, and who after fifty years
— that ended, it seems, but yesterday — ^was still in the service
of the London Omnibus Company, courteously saluted at
every encounter by all his comrades.

CHAPTER II

AN OLD STOCK COMPANY

George Dance's First Play — Mrs Kendal's Girlhood — Suicide of Walter
Montgomery — Cremorne Gardens

PREDESTINATION to the life of the theatre can
alone explain the fact that the first clear memory
of one whose youth was spent in puritanical repres-
sion should be of a pantomime ; his earliest impression of
London, visited at seven, Cremorne Gardens. In each case
the agent was a nurse, cruelly admonished, I doubt not, for
these surreptitious pleasure-makings ; but now, so gratefully
thanked ! In 1865 Nottingham was provided with a New
Theatre Royal — become a musty and dingy Theatre Royal
last time I saw it. It opened with a pantomime entitled
The House that John and William Built, in punning reference
to the brothers Lambert, wealthy lace manufacturers, who
owned it, and loved to haunt its shades, A scene, a song, a
comedian, the principal girl, and a Cow with a Crumpled
Horn are still vivid in my mind's eye, from my third year.

Many of the great cities of the provinces have supplied
material for thick volumes of theatrical history. Perhaps
the turn of Nottingham will come. It is rich in story of the
Robertsons, through three generations, to Mrs Kendal, whom
I remember as the idolised ingenue of the stock company.
There was an earlier Theatre Royal, which lingered years in
degradation, as a music hall, the Alhambra ; then became

7

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

a lace warehouse. At the Alhambra George Dance's first
dramatic work was produced. It was a patriotic spectacle ;
and, in return for the manuscript, he was to receive a prize-
bred bull terrier. Either he got nothing ; or, a mongrel.
I know there was bitter trouble. Dance was at that time
engaged in local commerce, but diligently writing comic
songs. One of his early works was :

" His lordship winked at the counsel,
Counsel winked at the clerk,
The jury passed the wink around,
And murmured ' Here's a lark.- "-

Another song has been erroneously attributed to him of
late. I note the fact, because it had a melody so bewitching
that Queen Victoria, hearing it played by a military band,
asked for the words. They proved to be :

** Come where the booze is cheaper.
Come where the pots hold more.
Come where the boss is a bit of a joss,
Come to the pub next door."-

One might trace the history of the old Theatre Royal,
Nottingham, to circuit days. Let a memory of, I think, its
last lessee, Mrs John Fawcett Saville, suffice. She was a
sweet woman, who sat in the parish church o' Sundays, her
grey silk gown matching the curls carefully disposed about
her cheeks. She gave the world two charming actresses,
Miss Kate Saville and Miss Eliza Saville. Whenever her
plans miscarried she revived *' By Special Request," for East
Lynne had not then been written, a play shaped from Cruik-
shank's temperance broad-sheet The Bottle, and played herself
the character of the drunkard's patient wife. " The bottle !
What shall I do with the bottle ? " she cried, hearing the

AN OLD STOCK COMPANY

unsteady brute approach, and eyeing with apprehension
the gin bottle, most carelessly exposed. " Break it, missis 1
We're blooming well sick of it," was the quick response
from the gallery.

Wilson Barrett was a member of the stock company here.
An old playgoer in the town cherished the photograph of a
slim harlequin, mask down — his sceptical friends assured him
that " it might be anybody." When I referred it to the then
famous actor manager of the Princess's he cried : " That's
me I " And, duly authenticated, the picture was restored
to its delighted owner. Barrett added a pathetic story of
fainting on the stage when first he joined the Nottingham
company. A long walk and an empty stomach were re-
sponsible. Here is a specimen week's work from his diary :
Monday, Brabantio ; Tuesday, Cotieres in Louis XI. ;
.Wednesday, Stukeley in The Gamester (with Pizarro as an
after -piece) ; Thursday, Baradas in Richlieu ; Friday, Edmund
in King Lear and Sir Charles in The Little Treasure ; Saturday,
Sir Francis in The Robbers and Major Galbraith in Rob Roy.

An early, probably the first, manager of the New Theatre
Royal was Walter Montgomery, who came to London, made
what seemed to be a brilliant marriage, and, in a few hours,
blew out his brains. The older men still discuss the tragedy
in the Green Room Club ; but I believe the mystery has never
been solved. Not long before Montgomery had written to his
;old Nottingham manager : "I am the happiest man alive."
Of critical playgoers who saw him play Romeo, I have known
none admit that he had seen a better. Once, in Nottingham,
Montgomery used five Juliets in a week — Miss Madge
Robertson, Miss Mattie Reinhardt, Miss Kate Saville, Mrs
Scott Siddons and Miss Clara Denville. Miss Denville was a

9

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

lovely creature, a member of an old theatrical family. She
was engaged to that Lord Arthur Pelham Clinton who, half-
a-century ago, disappeared under a cloud of scandal, and was
reported dead, though a clerk with a firm of solicitors in the
town told me it was his duty to make a regular remittance
to the young nobleman, still living abroad. Clara Denville
died ere, hardly, she had emerged from girlhood. Between
her and Miss Madge Robertson there was eager rivalry ;
and Montgomery was understood to take Miss Denville's side.
Anyhow when there was a question of a benefit for Miss
Robertson the manager forbade it. There was a furious
exchange of letters in the press. The Madge Robertson
Benefit became a burning question. But neither abuse nor
entreaty moved Montgomery ; and so a subscription was
started, with the result that a respectable simi was raised.
With part of the money a souvenir of the occasion was
purchased, and the balance was put in a purse. Cash and
testimonial were together handed to Miss Robertson by a
deputation of friendly citizens, who made speeches that the
reporters saved up scrupulously for posterity.

Here is the interesting record of Mrs Kendal's work
in Nottingham in 1866 : Laura Leeson in Time Tries All ;
Cupid in Burnand's Ixion^ " looking," as a local journalist
said, " very pretty in her pink dress and tights " ; Helen in
The Hunchback ; Pauline in Delicate Ground ; Madeleine in
Belphegor ; Annette (with song, / have a Silent Sorrow here)
in The Stranger ; Pauline in The Lady of Lyons ; Ophelia in
Hamlet ; Maria in George Barnwell ; Mrs Lionel Lynx in
Married Life ; Volante in The Honeymoon ; Nerissa in The
Merchant of Venice ; Desdemona in Othello ; Mary Thorn-
bury in John Bull ; Ninette in The Maid and the Magpie ;

10

11

a -a

k; -^
< -Si

^ I
o ?

AN OLD STOCK COMPANY

the Singing Witch in Macbeth ; Margaret Elmore in Love's
Sacrifice ; May Edwards in The Ticket-of-Leave Man ; Julia
Mannering in Guy Mannering ; Mrs Fitzsmyth in The
Nottingham Ladies^ Club; Miss Madge Robertson in the
Chair ; Lady Percy in Henry /F., Part I. ; and Kate O'Brien
(with songs, The Beating of my own Heart, and Kate
Kearney) in Perfection. A fellow -actress with Madge
Robertson was a Miss Hathaway, who created something of
a sensation by publishing (twenty years later) The Diary of
an Actress ; or. The Realities of Stage Life, a morbid, sordid
story of professional life, of which Mrs Kendal accepted the
dedication. Madge Robertson's successor in local esteem
was Lottie Venne.

A later lessee of the New Theatre Royal, Nottingham, was
Lady Don, a vivacious actress, whose husband, a seven-foot
soldier, adopted the profession of the stage, being, I imagine,
the first person of title to use his aristocratic style as an
actor. The pair came to bankruptcy. On the occasion of
a farewell benefit somewhere in the west of England, Sir
William Don, from the stage, delivered a passionate exhorta-
tion to young men to avoid the fast life which had brought
him to ruin. Almost my last memory of the Nottingham
stage was that, visiting the town in the eighties as the en-
gaging hero of The Lights of London, Mr Leonard Bojme
married the local beauty. Miss Mary Everington. Their son
distinguished himself lately in action in the European War.

Cremorne was the last of the " tea-gardens " which for
centuries played so important a part in the popular entertain-
ment of London. Its history just overlaps that of Vauxhall,
finally dispersed in 1859, after years of decay and tawdriness.
But Vauxhall had a splendid history, extending over two

II

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

centuries. Cremorne Gardens were destined to endure no
more than thirty years. There is some uncertainty as to the
exact date of the closure. In the Era Almanack, for years,
appeared the statement, opposite 4th October : " The Licence
of Cremorne lapsed for ever, 1877 " ; and this has been
accepted as the date of the closure, though it is not. John
Hollingshead had the impression that after the licence lapsed
the gardens were kept open in a casual way, and that it would
be hard to say when the gates were definitely locked. Not
long since I tried to beat the bounds of the Cremorne for the
edification of an American visitor. The once picturesque
and beautiful estate of twelve acres is covered by uninteresting
streets. There remains the Cremorne Tavern, once a kind of
lodge to the gardens, but it is bare of relics, nor had the Hebe
of the bar the least knowledge of her heritage. The expansion
of Chelsea Farm began early in the eighteenth century. It
came into the possession of Earl Cremorne in 1803 and took
his name. In the forties it was an unsuccessful Stadium.

In 1845 " Baron " Nicholson, better known in connection
with an obscene kind of song-and-supper room entertainment
called Judge and Jury, acquired Cremorne, and reconstructed
it on the lines familiar to-day at Earl's Court and the White
City. There were theatres and ball-rooms and circuses and
dancing platforms and bandstands. But the natural beauties
of Cremorne were greater than those of its successors, and
the Thames completed them — its steamer service bringing a
contingent of patronage too. Money troubles caused Nichol-
son to associate with him Mr T. B. Simpson of the Albion,
a famous theatrical tavern near Drury Lane Theatre. At
the neighbouring Harp, Sheridan " took a glass of wine by
his own fireside " while Drury Lane burned. At the Albion,

12

2 -v.

i I

AN OLD STOCK COMPANY

lessees of Drury Lane remained faithful to the old London
coffee-house tradition till Harris's day.

For a long time a charming comedy was enacted weekly at
the Albion. Harris never lost the opportunity of employing
an old-time actor fallen upon evil days, though it often meant
for him a troublesome encounter with the veteran's dignity.
A decrepit celebrity, to whom he paid four pounds a week,
would rather starve than present himself at the treasury with-
out a sovereign which he would tender to the paymaster in
addition to his " packet " with the remark : " H'm ! Ha !
Can you oblige me with a five-pound note ? I want to send
it away." A few minutes later, before the assembly at the
Albion, it would be " H'm ! Ha ! A little of the wine of
Scotland, dearie, and " (after a rustling in his waistcoat
pocket) " I'm afraid I shall have to trouble you for change."
And so a pleasant fiction that he was still paid in bank-notes
was maintained.

James Albery, the writer of one comedy that was nearly
a classic. Two Roses, was an alumnus of the Albion ; Albery,
who wrote his epitaph, invariably misquoted :

** He revelled 'neath the moon,
He slumbered 'neath the sun.
He lived a life of going to do
And died, with nothing done,' ■

Pettitt told with great gusto the story that he and Paul
Meritt were discussing, in one of the Albion " pews," the
details of a melodrama — in particular, planning a robbery
with murder, when a horrified countrjrman in the next com-
partment yelled for the police ! It reads well, but my old
friend had the mischievous habit of inventing these yams
for receptive interviewers.

13

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

In time Nicholson retired from Cremome with a grievance,
and Simpson remained, to make, as he admitted, a hundred
thousand pounds. In 1861 Cremome Gardens were ac-
quired by E. T. Smith, one of the last entrepreneurs of Vauxhall
— lessee and manager of almost every theatre, opera-house,
music hall, circus and tea-garden in London in his day ; ex-
police constable, auctioneer, publican, money-lender, news-
paper proprietor and parliamentary candidate. He promoted
at Cremorne a ludicrous reproduction of the Eglinton Tourna-
ment. I recall a Man Fly, who thrilled me by walking across
the lofty ceiling, head downwards; and a flying machine,
which was a huge oiled silk envelope of a man. It was in-
flated, and carried him a few feet from the ground from end
to end of the great ballroom. A female Blondin crossed the
river on a tight rope. A Fete of the Four Elements associ-
ated the Fire King and the Man Fish, ingeniously eking out
the quartet with a company of ground tumblers and a troupe
of aerial gymnasts ! A painful sensation was caused in 1874
when De Groof, a Belgian, attempting a parachute descent,
fell and was killed. There was always a good ballet at
Cremorne, mostly provided by the Lauri family ; and employ-
ing Kate Vaughan and her sister, Susie, as members of the
Vaughan troupe, which did a much admired Black Dance.
But the night scenes grew more and more disreputable.
King's Road was rendered well nigh uninhabitable by the
stream of hansoms bearing noceurs and naughty dames from
east to west, and back. Smith retired in 1869. John
Baum was his successor. In 1877, on whatever date, decency
forbade Cremome. And London was left ten years without
alfresco entertainment till the Health Exhibition took up
the tale.

14

CHAPTER III

IN A PBOVINCIAL NEWSPAPER OFFICE

The Beginnings of J. M. Barrie— Stories of Dean Hole— Bendigo the
Prize-fighter — Bernal Osborne's Wit

THERE was a diffident knocking at the door of The
Nottingham Daily Journal on a Sunday night.
On the dark landing, a-top of a broken stair-
case, stood a small dehcate youth unmistakably from
Scotland.

" My name is Barrie. I am the new leader writer ! "
He proceeded to explain that he was " a-awfully tired,"
after the long journey from Edinburgh. He had taken the
precaution of writing, in the train, a leading article which
he hoped would satisfy the occasion. And he would like to
go home to bed. The leading article was written in pencil,
on both sides of the two fly-leaves, yellow glazed, of a pocket
edition of Horace. The writing was minute and regular and
most legible — apparently. Actually, it was the tonic record
of a Scottish drawl, softly extended, and sweetly unintelligible.
Barrie's association with " the oldest provincial daily paper,"
thus begun, extended over two years, and was terminated,
it may be, because of the ultra- fantastic quality of the con-
tributions of " The Little Minister " ; it may be because he
asked for an increase of salary at a moment when dubiety
as to the conmiercial worth (in Nottingham), and saneness,
of his humour had become acute.

15

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

Barrie first asked three pounds a week in response to an
advertisement. " H'm, ye-es," said the senior proprietor.
" We pay monthly. That will be twelve pounds a month."
Barrie, I got to know, was a spendthrift in generosity of
certain kinds. But the ingenious reduction of three pounds
per week to two pounds seventeen and fourpence first
perplexed and then eternally angered him.

An interval of two weeks divided our installation. I was
twenty ; and, conscious that I had lied a little about my age,
I modestly asked two pounds per week, getting, by the same
process of reckoning, a fraction less than thirty-seven
shillings ! The proprietors were two estimable and kindly
men, very rich, who had inherited the paper from their father,
an eccentric solicitor of great account in midland counties
politics in the fifties. They grimly watched the fine old paper
die.

My instructions were to take up my duties at four o'clock
on a Sunday afternoon. The key of the vast building, contain-
ing thousands of pounds worth of machinery, was left for me
under the front door mat. In undisturbed solitude I got
together the basis of the next day's paper from contributed
manuscript and predatory snipping, on which material the
composing staff set to work at half -past eight, for the rule
was that the mechanical workers must have an opportunity
to attend evening church. Literary souls had to arrange
salvation at a morning service — or, not. At a quarter past
eight the foreman printer, immortalised, as all the details
of the establishment were, in Barrie's first published novel.
When a Man^s single, entered the room.

" Gk)od-evening," he said. " I suppose you're the new sub-
editor. I'm the foreman printer. I might say I run this

i6

A PROVINCIAL NEWSPAPER OFFICE

)lace. I've been here, man and boy, for thirty-nine years,
md I've seen thirty-seven young fellows in your chair. I
lope we shall get on."

It was all true. He spoke of the senior proprietor as " W. "
and the junior proprietor as " Him." He had two names for
" copy." There was " noos," to which he attached im-
portance according to its local application. To be sure he
could cite Macaulay as a precedent. And there was mere
literary matter, which he called " tripe."

Barrie's work, acutely literary, was always in peril ; and
he suffered horribly. Our autocrat had a soft spot, but
Barrie refused to negotiate it. For myself, I once procured
the insertion of an historic speech on Protection by Henry
Chaplin by marking it the introduction to Mansfield Flower
Show. So it became " preference copy."

Barrie's contract, for, " say, twelve pounds a month,"
was to supply two columns of literary matter per day. One
was to consist of a leading article, as to which general, but
never particular, instructions were given, in an eight-page
letter from the senior proprietor. Barrie often remarked
that he had managed to decipher everything but the
religion of the worthy man. One day he told me he
had arrived at a conclusion on the point. A splendidly
generous act, perpetrated in secrecy, was his key to the
cipher.

We had another important contributor — a. man of a good
family, become garrulous on sport, about which he wrote a
weekly article, for seven and sixpence, sacro sanct, at what-
ever length it came in. Dean Hole, then Vicar (and Lord of
the Manor) of Caunton, had delivered a delightful speech —
he used to write his addresses and carry them in his pocket.
B 17

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

Whether or not he learned them I know not, but manuscript
and oration compared with verbal exactitude. He lent me
this speech, for liberal quotation in The Journal. But the
sporting article came in, as the deluge. I penned an apologetic
note to Dean (then simply Canon) Hole, explaining that if
he found his speech curtailed he would at any rate find
" Diophantus's latest notes on the St Leger " available. He
repUed :

" Dear young Friend, —

Delightful Diophantus !
Desolate — Reynolds Hole ! "

As a preacher, as a great Anglican, as a gardener, as a littera-
teur, as a wit. Dean Hole is well known. A schoolfellow
of mine was his curate and once entered the cottage of a
bed-ridden dame. A broad, black-coated back obscured the
fireplace. " Hullo, Tom ! " said the vicar, looking over his
shoulder. " Come to read old Betty a chapter ? Wait till
I've made this linseed poultice."

Diligent research into the files of The Nottingham Journal
would probably disclose, just as the columns of its prosperous
competitor. The Nottingham Guardian, enclose, in its " Poet's
Corner," some of the gems of Mortimer Collins, many char-
acteristic sayings of that corrosive wit, Bernal Osborne, who
contested the borough from time to time. " I stand before
you," he said to the soon fascinated electors, " the only
candidate without a handle to his name." His competitors
were Viscount Amberley and a Mr Handel Cosham. Those
were the days of the hustings, and I well remember being
taken as a child to inspect the debris in the great market-
place— eggs, stones, what not, were hurled at the candidates

i8

IN A PROVINCIAL NEWSPAPER OFFICE

as they appeared on the temporary platform to return thanks
for the great or Httle support they had received.

In that same great market-place I recall the prize-fighter,
William Thompson or *' Bendigo." He had been converted
by a local evangelistic pork butcher, " Jemmy " Dupe, and
he sat, a gaunt grey old man wearing a broad- cloth suit, but
his colours of " bird's-eye " blue, beside a barrow, on which
were displayed his championship belts and the Bibles that he
sold. Ever and anon he would spring to his feet and sing :

" Ho ! The Devil had me once
But he let me go !
Yes he let me go !
Bendigo ! ■'

But we talked of journalism. One of my early duties
was to record a concert given by local scholars who had dis-
tinguished themselves at the Royal Academy of Music. They
brought a star — Miss Marie Etherington, who is now Miss
Marie Tempest.

Barrie wrote for The Nottingham Journal five leaders a
week, a weekly column of gossip signed " Hippomenes " —
many of these essays were reprinted in My Lady Nicotine,
having in their early state been infinitely beyond the average
reader of The Journal — and book reviews, carefully measured
with a tape, to make up the tale of twelve columns per week.
The Saturday " leader " was written for years by a local
accountant of immense erudition, amazing views, and a
literary style founded on Cobbett. His lucubration always
filled two columns. I remember an article that began :
" God moves ('tis said) in a mysterious way. But the
Nottingham waterworks company ..." Barrie used to
open the Saturday paper and fling it from him in a rage.

19

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

Throughout his hfe in Nottingham he made no friends, was
morbidly unhappy, and yet cherished the behef that he had
a sacred trust in the editorial columns of The Journal. He
had an immense sense of his importance. It was not
vanity — just a natural contempt for all his surroundings
and a natural consciousness of his superiority. There was
a corresponding constraint towards him on the part of the
local newspaper men. And yet there were such good fellows
among them 1

They had a curious little club, meeting in a tavern, called
" The Kettle." I sought it out a while ago, but it had gone.
Barrie went once or twice, but was frankly disgusted. One
of its members is a well-known barrister now. Another is
headmaster of a public school. Another is reader of fiction
for a firm outpouring penny novelettes. Another became,
indiscriminately, a fascinating writer about Parliament, and
an exigeant judge of bull-dogs. Dear, eccentric Dick Mann,
with whom I have shared my schoolboy hundred lines, a
lodging-house bed and a scarce sovereign ! Fleet Street
seemed to change when you went !

Barrie's first play was written in Nottingham, on approval,
for Minnie Palmer. It " discovered " her, sitting on a mantel-
piece. It was called, I think, Polly^s Dilemma, and it was
printed as a detail of the Christmas issue of The Nottingham
Journal, so that we might borrow the type, economically
make it into a booklet, and so try to sell the play. His first
fiction was published in Bow Bells — twenty thousand words
of succulent sentiment, for which he got three guineas. He
bought some desired print. The Greek Slave, I think, with the
money, and pasted the story on the back as indicating its
fans et origo.

IN A PROVINCIAL NEWSPAPER OFFICE

His lonely rooms in a suburban terrace backed on to the
garden of my home. My sweet mother, in her expansive
kindness, would go and signal to him that tea was a-going —
midland counties tea, of many attributes. There was once
an impossible interval and he made amends for his absence
with a still treasured copy of David Elginhrod, inscribed " To
the Face at the Window. He cometh not, she said." Dear
soul ! She specialised on forlorn journalists. There is a
millionaire newspaper man of to-day to whom she had no
more to say than : " You poor, neglected thing ! Just turn
out all your socks." And mended them.

Barrie of those days fancied himself as an actor. He
would on the slightest provocation give an imitation of Irving
as Romeo and Modjeska as Juliet. In his playlet, Rosalind,
I think I recognise an encounter with a well-known actress of
that day, Marie de Grey, who once startled the supper-room
of a restaurant by impulsively reciting the epilogue to As
You Like It. His rooms were curiously devoid of books.
There was a Horace — that very Horace of the yellow, leader-
written fly-leaves — and there was Bartlett's Familiar Quota-
tions. If ever he were tempted to use a quotation he turned
to Bartlett, and if it were among the Familiar, out it
went.

He was the most shy, the most painfully sensitive creature,
with an exquisite delicacy in regard to women. He drank
nothing. And he used to assure me that after a most
conscientious trial he found smoking detestable. Walking
was a joy to him. I suppose we must have covered
hundreds of miles of Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire
together. He was years ahead of me in setting that
first, rapturous, proprietorial foot on the pavement of

21

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

Fleet Street in that proud ability to say, Civis Romanus
sum.

For the proprietors of The Nottingham Journal economised
on him, and bought their editorial opinions from an agency
at three shillings and sixpence a column all in type complete.
Two years later they economised on me.

22

CHAPTER IV

OF CRITICS, OLD AND NEW

Clement Scott's Influence — Lyceum First Nights — Irving and Wilson
Barrett — The Fight of La Dame aux CamSlias

WHEN Rejane last visited London its dramatic
critics conferred upon her their new, super-
erogatory distinction of a dinner. The most
interesting feature of the occasion was the facility with which
three of their number delivered speeches in French — under-
stood, I beUeve, by most of their colleagues ! It is pretty
safe to say that when, after much negotiation on the part
of John HoUingshead, the Comedie Fran9aise first visited
London at the Gaiety in 1879, no then important writer
about the drama could have performed such a feat. One
or two had a literary acquaintance with the French
drama. But even the adaptations from the French, by
critics and others, which for a long time pervaded the
English stage, were done from literal translations first made
by a hack.

Director Jules Garetie of the Comedie Fran9aise was
terrified by the prospect of English criticism ; and insisted
on the importation of Francisque Sarcey as a detail of his
contract — ^the one heavy expense which HoUingshead, a
most liberal manager, deeply and for ever resented. Apropos :
The Comedie Fran9aise also brought on the scene Arthur
Shirley, to become a most prolific writer of melodrama,

23

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

mostly suggested by French plays. Shirley was a North
London rate collector, with a curiously intimate and facile
knowledge of the French stage, and he was engaged as
secretary to the visitors. One or two English newspaper
proprietors sought the aid, in dealing with the French season,
of men who speak French and write English. Such employ-
ment brought into London journalism two of the most
distinguished dramatic critics of to-day !

What Clement Scott loved to call the " critical bench " of
twenty-five years ago presents a strange contrast to that
of to-day. It is discreet to make the comparison general.
Bench was Scott's word ; but he was the least judicial of
critics — a passionate advocate, always ; sometimes in the
attitude of prosecution, more often in the attitude of defence.
The best criticism of to-day — most of the criticism of to-day
— is infinitely superior to that of yesterday, in its desire to be
judicial and in its effort toward literary distinction — one is
particular to exclude the steadily degrading personal para-
graph, and the "light, bright stuff," in substitution for a
critical review, poured into some Fleet Street dailies to meet
the exigencies of ever earlier publication, ere the performance
in the theatre has well begim.

But if the critic of to-day is an improvement on the critic
of yesterday — what of the day before ? Until Clement Scott
came into his own, criticism was, as it had been for years, say,
from the disappearance of John Forster and George Henry
Lewes, perfunctory, uninteresting, often inspired by strong
prejudice, and the venal interest of playwriting or adapta-
tion. I am not speaking, of course, from personal knowledge
— from that acquired by casual research through old files,
and from the report of old-time managers. To a man, the

24

OF CRITICS, OLD AND NEW

irly Victorian critic was a hawker of plays — eking out one

l-paid emplojmnent by another. E. L. Blanchard poured

)rth his encyclopaedic knowledge for less money per thousand

rords than a badly sweated typist would charge for copying

-day. Maddison Morton, the Lope de Vega of Adelphi

farce, was content with a five-pound note. I believe that

Henry Neville paid at the rate of fifty pounds an act for

The Ticket-of- Leave Man, which might mean fifty thousand

pounds to a lucky author of to-day. It was, of course, an

adaptation, made without " by your leave," or " thank you,"

or any form of acknowledgment, according to the custom

of that day, when managers would subject a manuscript to

detective inquiry, so that if it proved to be an adaptation

they had a ready resort from an exorbitant " author," to

some cheaper translator.

Sidney Grundy, who had been a dramatic critic, mostly
hated the fraternity, and to his friends made no secret of the
originals of the two scamps he pilloried in An Old Jew. This
savagery, and its unfortunate title, ruined a play of much
merit. Tom Robertson, an earlier caricaturist of the craft,
was kinder. Still, Oxenford of The Times was rendered
furious by the Owls Roost scene, in Society. Sitting in the
Arundel Club, a delightful symposium with a sub-Savage
flavour, he declared that " Tom had no right so to disgrace
his pals, depicting them with a clay pipe in one hand, and
a glass of gin and water in the other." A shout of
laughter brought to the notice of the old man that in
one hand he held a clay pipe, in the other a glass of gin
and water. He angrily threw them into the hearth, and
left the club.

Scott was certainly the first writer in a London daily

25

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

paper who appealed, on behalf of the theatre, to the popular
imagination. He brought into use a new phrase, long, now,
in disuse. The play-going public asked eagerly, as it has
never asked apropos any other critic, not : " What does
The Telegraph say ? " but : " What has Scott to say ? " though
his work for the most part was anonymous. With his vivid
column on the morrow, as compared with a dull paragraph
on the ensuing Saturday, which had been the custom, a new
interest in the theatre arose ; and the " first night " became
a function. Celebrities grew common, eager to witness the
actual production of a play, whereas the habit of the *' best
people " had been to wait a while.

Managers were alert to the importance of this fact. Bram
Stoker, Irving's indefatigable lieutenant, marshalled his
distinguished guests ; and Willie Wilde formulated a para-
graph for The World, which became the type for society
journalism : " Baroness Burdett Coutts was in her box with
Mr Ashmead Bartlett in attendance ; Mr Chamberlain, who
was accompanied by his pretty young wife, discoursed of
orchids to Archdeacon Sinclair ; Mr Theodore Watts brought
Mr Swinburne ; Miss Braddon outlined her new novel to Sir
Edward Lawson ; Dr Morell Mackenzie congratulated Sir
Edward Clarke on his speech in the Penge mystery trial," and
so on. After the play there would be an informal party on
the stage. A nod and a beck from Bram Stoker was the
invitation — naturally, abused in time.

Stoker was a big, shambling fellow, red bearded, carelessly
dressed, always in what he called a " ma-artal hurry " ; for
the Lyceum, so apparently ecclesiological, was, as a business
structure, chaotic. Stoker was a Dublin journalist when
Irving appreciated and annexed him. He became the

26

OF CRITICS, OLD AND NEW

actor's faithful and lifelong servant. Afterwards, it proved
that he might have made a reputation as a novelist.

At the Princess's Theatre, Wilson Barrett tried a foolish
rivalry — celebrities, supper- party, society patron-saint and
all. Lady Jeune was the good fellow's social sponsor — for
he was a good fellow, with all his weaknesses. Nothing could
femphasise the difference between the two actor managers so
strongly as their dress did. Irving's huge silk hat, monkish
face, iron-grey hair, loose Chesterfield were as subtly dis-
tinguished as they were carefully unobtrusive. Barrett liked
to march the Row in a velvet coat, a slouch hat and a
Quartier Latin tie. So it was, all through ! He made an
income sufficient even for his extravagances till he produced
Hamlet, which ruined him. He could not indulge this
ambition quietly, and get it over, but started angry scholars
on an adventurous controversy — apropos his textual out-
rages ; then finally began to take himself au sirieux as a
Shakespearean commentator.

Barrett was a genius all the same. How much his earlier
authors learned from him we shall never know — nothing,
according to their angry protests, when he preferred a modest
claim. But years later he produced valuable evidence — The
Sign of the Cross, to wit. He indubitably wrote that great
play. I call it great for the reason that it put fifty thousand
pounds into the pocket of the creditors who had driven him
from London ; and another fifty thousand pounds into his
own. Archer described it as "a combination of the penny
dreadful with the Sunday-school picture-book ... a
Salvationist pantomime, lacking a harlequinade." Hard
luck, that after his noble struggle and eventual triumph he
lived so short a time to enjoy his aftermath. I am afraid the

27

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

typical appeal of The Sign of the Cross — pace its clerical recom-
mendation, and even Gladstone's — was to the old lady who
witnessed Miss Haidee Wright's torture scene many times,
and would come panting up the stairs to the ticket-taker
with the anxious query : " Has she shrieked yet, mister ? "

Barrett had his Fidus Achates too — an amazing adventurer
known as Henry or Daddy Herman, who had been half
blinded as a Confederate soldier in the American War, and
who used to play practical jokes with his glass eye. He
held it out to an extortionate cabman once, who, believing
he had maimed his man, drove away full speed. Herman's
real name was not Darco, as it is generally given. He had
yet an earlier. His mind teemed with play plots and
stories. He was an admirable metteur en scene, and an
ardent lover of Dickens. He quarrelled with most of his
collaborators, though he was as generous as he was hot
tempered. He squandered thousands ; and died poor. For
fuller particulars, see Christie Murray's novel, Despair^s
Last Journey,

Homeward, to my text, which was dramatic criticism;
and, in conclusion : Scott's method was to abandon himself
to a passion of praise, or invective. He was often unjust —
as in his attack, shortly after he had become a Catholic, on
Malcolm Salaman's fine play, A Modern Eve, which suc-
cumbed— always extravagant, and always interesting.
He claimed to be a super-missionary of the stage ; and
got terribly vain of his power. I have heard actors and
managers speak of him with passionate hatred. But I
should say he doubled the importance of the theatre as a
commercial enterprise, for no writer, before or since, has
so stimulated the public interest.

28

OF CRITICS, OLD AND NEW

One of Scott's earliest exploits in journalism was to procure
the imprisonment, for libel, of James Mortimer, the founder
of The London Figaro — prototype of all the smart penny
papers of to-day, and training school of a second famous
critic, William Archer. Its stand-by was a very character-
istic humorist, known as O.P.Q. Philander Smith, actually
Aglen A. Dowty, a good-looking civil servant, whose articles
were wont to be illustrated by a monstrous caricature of the
writer.

Scott was eager to avow the offending article. Mortimer
sternly refused to permit this, and chivalrously took his
punishment, as Edmund Yates did, later, in a less worthy
cause. Mortimer was a grim old man, savage in speech,
with a heart of gold. His unsuccessful plays numbered
hundreds. He was one of the finest chess-players of his
day, and an inveterate gambler at Monte Carlo. For many
years he was the confidential secretary of Napoleon III. ;
afterwards, the trusted friend of the Empress Eugenie. He
was shockingly hard up in his old age ; but I can still hear
the torrent of blasphemy he let loose when he was asked to
Tite a vie intime of his beloved patrons.
It is Mortimer's distinction to have secured the sanction of
bhe Lord Chamberlain for a play pretty faithfully translated
rom La Dame aicos Camelias — namely, Heartsease — in which
irst Helen Barry, then the Polish actress Modjeska appeared.
'There had been many previous attempts, but the censor even
declined one which landed Margaret in the haven of respect-
able matrimony. What Patti had been allowed to sing in
Traviata, and what Bernhardt had been allowed to say in
French on the intervention of the Prince of Wales (Edward
"VII. ), Mortimer was tardily allowed to do into English, on

29

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

the condition that he did not exploit his play as an
adaptation from Dumas'. Hence, Heartsease.

Contemporaries of Scott were Joseph Knight, an inmiense,
big-bearded barrister, who might have sat for a statue
of Rabelais ; and Moy Thomas, a counterfeit presentment of
Lord Wolseley. Moy Thomas had an entertaining habit of
conveying his opinions, often in crude language, to his friend,
sometimes across six rows of stalls. They were both men
of great learning, and that gave their critical work its par-
ticular value. Thomas was one of the old guard of The
Daily News ; also a magazine writer. Knight wrote for The
Globe, The Daily Graphic and The Athenceum ; also edited
Notes and Queries. He accumulated many thousand
books about the stage, and seldom left the Garrick Club till
morning; both habits giving his daughter and devoted
companion, Mrs Ian Robertson, grave concern.

I own to a deep affection for the memory of one old
Bohemian, who had seen and enjoyed much hfe, and who
expressed conmaonsensical views in strong language. He
detested the new journalism, as I am sure the new journalist
would despise him. He would step into the Savage on his
way from the theatre to the office ; and, if someone tempted
him to reminiscences of the prize-ring, unhappy play — it
was forgotten ! But a kind friend would quietly slip up
to Fleet Street and repair the default, by writing his notice.

Picture him, then, marching into the Gaiety bar, one
morning, emptying a tumbler of brandy-and-soda, then
scanning his daily paper. " There, my brave boy," he cried
to his neighbour. " That is what you call journalism, of
the good old school. Half-a-column of limpid English.
God knows when, or where, or how I wrote it. I don't !

30

OF CRITICS, OLD AND NEW

When you can do that " But the other fled, lest the

vainglory of the bibulous veteran should tempt an outcry
that the " brave boy " in good-fellowship and secrecy had
done that very thing ! A conceited youngster appealed to
him at the first performance of The Best Man at Toole's.

" I say, Mr ! Billington's hunting-breeches are all

wrong,'' " Each man to his knowledge, my lad," said the
old Fleet Streeter. " The pawnbroking's rotten.'"

These critics, and their colleagues of old time, were not
the " guests of the theatre," to use Sir Herbert Tree's courtly
phrase, but peremptory inspectors. Every newspaper of
standing had a printed form, or " order," which its editor
would sign, demanding seats for the bearer — the bearer being
possibly the genuine critic ; or, any other body, from the
signatory's mother-in-law to the lady who did his washing —
and friend. When I joined the staff of The Sunday Times
in 1890 there was a large stock of these orders still in hand.
The Era used them still a few years ago.

I

31

CHAPTER V

THE STORY OF THE MUSIC HALL

From Pot-house to Palace — Early Comic Songs — "Champagne
Charley " — Charles Dickens at the Music Halls

IF the old-time critic of the theatre were of a perfunctory
habit, the music hall was nearly ignored in the news-
papers of the sixties and seventies — now and then a
trivial paragraph, in an obscure niche ; now and then a
trumpery " descriptive " article, lurid and uninformatory.
In the eighties, whenever theatrical topics were few, the
critic with space to fill would betake himself to a variety
house, and write of it in a condescending way, professing
surprise at the cleverness and interest of the entertainment
he found there — though he had probably been a regular
attendant. Finally, there was an invasion of the music
hall by young poets, who wrote of it in foolish rhapsody.
Somebody coined the delectable phrase, " From pot-house to
palace," which is not indeed an unfair summary. And
Charles Morton was styled the " Father of the Music Hall."
He was hardly that ; nor was the Canterbury the exact
origin of the variety theatre. The Canterbury was indeed
the oldest music hall, of its distinction, with an uninterrupted
history. But there were halls of importance in existence
when Morton, who developed from a waiter into a sporting
publican, took the Canterbury Arms. There were, notably,
the not distant Winchester, and the Rotunda, near

32

THE STORY OF THE MUSIC HALL

Blackfriars Bridge, now the Arena of prize-fights. The first
song-and-supper room added to the Canterbury Arms, which
liad Vauxhall Gardens for a still active neighbour, was a very
modest affair. The vast variety theatre which we know is
a third, or even a fourth, rebuilding of the original structure.
Morton, at the outset, probably attached more importance
to the betting list displayed in his bar — said to be the last ;
though other " Hst men," for instance " Bob " Osborne, who
died a while ago, in extreme old age continued in the business,
pinning their lists to the trees in Hyde Park, and repudiating
its legal definition as a " place."

I would not identify the Canterbury as the first music hall
— ^nor the others. Rather, I would trace its origin to
Bartholomew Fair, as the earliest minister of a form of
entertainment less conventional than that of the theatre.
The Victorian song-and-supper room — ^the Coal Hole, and the
Cider Cellars — ^provided a vessel, into which the fairs, the
tea-gardens, the circuses, the saloon theatres each flung an
ingredient. And so you get the modem music hall, which
was never in a state of evolution so active as, at this moment,
it is. In ten years it will develop something differing com-
pletely from what it is to-day — differing more than the music
hall of to-day differs from its predecessors.

Too much stress is laid apologetically on the glee-singing
that certainly formed an important part of the Canterbury
programmes, and on the fact that half-a-dozen vocalists
standing in a row in preposterous evening dress gave the
first performance in London of Gk)unod's Faust — ^this by way
of reproach to the less exalted taste of the music hall patron
of to-day. In truth, the Canterbury Music Hall owed its
success not to " high class " music but, as all music halls have
c 33

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

done in the meanwhile, to a comic singer or " vocal comedian"
seduced from the song-and-supper rooms at the West End —
Sam Cowell, an immigrant from America ; and, at the outset,
a singer in Grand Opera. Cowell, to judge from his pictures,
dressed his parts carefully. His favourite mediimi was a
doggerel narrative running to many verses, such as Hamlet,
Prince of Denmark :

*- A hero's life I'll sing ; his story shall my pen mark.
He was not the King, but Hamlet, Prince of Denmark.
His mammy she was young — the Crown she'd set her eyes on,
Her husband stopped her tongue ; she stopped his ears with pizon.''

Here is his version of Faust :

" Once upon a time in Gottingen,

A fine old German city,
A student lived who, o'er his books.

Each day and night would sit he.
His mind and mem'ry were well stored

With every kind of knowledge ;
In fact, so long o'er books he pored,

He was a walking college.
For forty years he struggled hard

With spirits good and evil.
He tried in vain to raise the wind —

At last he raised the devil."

Take again Oliver Twist :

" Now, gals and boys, I 'opes you're veil.
Yes ! thankee, I'm the same.
Of course you don't know me at all —
The Dodger is my name.
You've read my adventures written by Boz.
Says I, Who the Dickens is he?
About a parish 'prentice lad
Who was all of a twist — like me."

34

THE STORY OF THE IVIUSIC HALL

Such quaint ditties as The Rat-catcher^s Daughter and
Villikins and his Dinah, ill-starred lovers who " vos a-buried
in von grave," were also favourites of Cowell's. The latter
gets its vogue from the " great little " Robson, and was
maintained in popularity within modem memory by Toole.
Here is a typical song of Sam Cowell's, which every street
boy knew by heart in its day :

" As I was a-valking down by the sea-shore,
Vere the vinds and the vaves and the vaters did roar,
With the vinds and the vaves and the vaters all round.
I heard a sweet voice making sorrowful sound,

Singing, Ri-fol-de-riddle-ol-de-ray,

My love's dead — him I adore.
And I never, no never, shall see him no more."

Clement Scott put it on record that Cowell was the " best
comic singer he ever heard." Morton was never weary of
singing his praises, and paid him eighty pounds a week, an
immense sum in those days, when capable comedians would
appear at the song-and-supper rooms for the honorarium of
three half-crowns per night and two hot drinks. Cowell
took great liberties with his audiences. His exit from
Evans's was dramatic. "Mr Cowell is late again,"
cried angry old Paddy Green. " You've made him your
god, gentlemen, but, by God ! he sha'n't be mine ! "
Cowell took liberties with his constitution too, and died
young.

If the "vocal comedian" were not the product of the
Canterbury, but borrowed, none can dispute its claim to
that ineffable creature, the " serio-comic singer," for women
neither performed at the song-and-supper rooms, nor were
admitted to them, till Evans's was on the eve of dissolution.

35

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

The first serio-comic singer was Mrs Caulfield, and here, in
jargon I have failed to translate, is the first serio-comic
song :

" Kemo, Kimo ! Where ? Oh, there ! my high, low !
Then in came Dolly singing
Sometimes medley winkum lingum up-cat
Sing song, Dolly, won't you try me, oh ! "

In time there were acrobats at the Canterbury, and
Blondin traversed the hall on his tight rope. And William
Lingard gave impersonations of celebrities.

But the prosperity of the Canterbury waned. Morton
abandoned it — to be resuscitated by other enterprise, and de-
voted himself to the Oxford, which, again, he enlarged from
an inn, the Boar and Castle. He had a serious rival but a
few hundred yards cityw^ards, Weston's Royal Music Hall,
also enlarged from a public-house, the Seven Tankards and
the Punchbowl, absorbing a chapel in the process. This
important characteristic of all the earlier halls — outgrowth
from an inn — ^is not to be overlooked. It meant much in
morale. I remember Henri Gros, who did much for the
music hall, standing on the pavement of Edgware Road
and characteristically shaking his fist at the White Lion,
which he declared to be the curse of its offspring, the
Metropolitan.

Champagne flowed river-like at Weston's. The earliest
proprietor loved to hear it ordered by the case ! From the
stage George Leyboume sang :

** Champagne Charley is my name 1
Champagne Charley is my name !
Good for any game at night, my boys !
Good for any game at night, my boys I

36

Georc.e Lkybournk

THE STORY OF THE MUSIC HALL

Champagne Charley is my name !
Champagne Charley is my name !
Good for any game at night, my boys !
Who'll come and join me in a spree ? '-

Leyboume was a mechanic from the Midlands. His real
name was Joe Saunders. He came to London by way of a
holiday, was fascinated by the performances of the already
popular Arthur Lloyd, and determined to become a comic
singer. His early employment was to sing in eulogy of Tom
Sayers, the prize-fighter. The song ran :

"Hit him on the boko !
Dot him on the snitch I
Wot a pretty fighter !
Was there ever sich ! '*•

Leyboume attracted the notice of the late William Holland,
known as the People's Caterer, and was engaged to appear
at the Canterbury Music Hall. His salary was twenty-five
pounds a week, guaranteed for twelve months. He was
provided with a carriage and four horses, quickly burlesqued
by another performer with four donkeys, and encouraged to
wear a fur coat. He also cultivated the habit of calling for
champagne on the slightest provocation, and he died in his
forty-second year in poor circumstances. Meanwhile he
enjoyed amazing popularity and earned as much as a hundred
and twenty pounds a week. Captain Cuff ; Mouse Traps,
a penny ! WhoHl buy ? ; Up in a Balloon ; After the Opera is
Over, and Riding on a Donkey, were some of his songs. And
the Rollicking Rams :

" Button up your waistcoat, button up your shoes.
Have another liquor, and throw away the blues.
Be Hke me, and good for a spree
From now till day is dawning,

37

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

For I'm a member of the Rollicking Rams,

Come and be a member of the Rollicking Rams.

The only boys to make a noise

From now till day is dawning.

We scorn such drinks as lemonade,

Soda, seltzer, beer.

The liquors of our club I'd tell you,

But I can't, for there's ladies here.

Come along, come along, come along,
For I'm a member of the Rollicking Rams,
Out all night till broad daylight
And never go home till morning.''

Leybourne's songs were primarily exploited of course in
the then disreputable music halls ; but they found their way
into the Strand and Gaiety burlesques — ostensibly with the
idea of satirising their vulgarity and silliness, probably with
the object of stealing their usually fascinating music, for no
fee was paid. Captain Crosstree is my Name in Black-Ey^d
See-usan is an instance.

Leyboume was tall, handsome, elegant, with an infectious
gaiety and charm. George Edwardes once told me that he
would find a thousand pounds a week for this Cockney
Horace, could he be restored to life and activity, as at his
best. An artist of the present day might be cited for illus-
tration— George Lashwood, who has much of Leybourne's
sentiment and style.

Another of the pillars of the Old Royal Holborn was
Stead, a queer creature who sang The Perfect Cure with
an extraordinary, intermittent dance. Charles Dickens
inserted an article in Household Words in eulogy of its
performance, and professed to have counted the hallons of
the dancer to the number of sixteen hundred. Dickens wrote
that he " strongly urged the case of the music halls against

38

THE STORY OF THE MUSIC HALL

the prosecutions of theatrical managers," and advocated free
trade in entertainment.

When Morton opened the Oxford his ambition soared to
Sims Reeves for his star. But Reeves somewhat scornfully
declined the offer. Charles Santley was more amenable —
Santley now full of years and honours. Sims Reeves's old
age was deplorable. He was glad of music hall engagements
ere yet the great ones of the stage had begun to consider them
— first, of course, in missionary zeal ; eventually for their
considerable emolument. In a few years the first Oxford
Music Hall was destroyed by fire, and Morton passed on, to
become, at the Philharmonic, the father of Opera Bouffe.

39

CHAPTER VI

THE LONDON PAVILION

Concerts in a Stable-yard — Dr Kahn's Museum — Early Joint Stock
Companies and their Fate — The Oxford and the Tivoli

THERE is no more remarkable instance of the de-
velopment of the music hall than that furnished
by the London Pavilion, though it has no claim
to antiquity, and though at this moment it seems to be back-
ward in the race. Half-a-centmy ago it was a typical " sing-
song." Many a still active noceur can remember when in
return for a trifling payment at the door he received a voucher
entitling him to its full equivalent in drink or tobacco to be
consumed at scattered tables. Then, the Pavilion became
the first music hall de luxe at the West End. It was floated
as a limited liability company, and began an epoch of frenzied
finance, from the effects of which the variety theatre as a
commercial enterprise has hardly yet recovered. The im-
mense profits earned by the London Pavilion appealed to
the imagination, especially of the ultra respectable in-
vestor. Clergymen and district visitors abounded among
its shareholders.

Half the music halls in the city were seized upon by un-
scrupulous promoters, who filled their own pockets and, for
the most part, left their dupes to face a scandalous liquida-
tion. From such a debacle some of the finest properties of
to-day were raised. But many music halls which in private

40

THE LONDON PAVILION

hands had prospered fairly well were long hampered by over-
capitalisation and discredited by the unimpressive, or worse,
character of their directorates.

As for the Pavilion, it is built on the stable-yard of an inn,
wherein some of the paraphernalia of the funeral of the
Duke of Wellington was prepared. For a long time the
adjoining Black Horse Inn enjoyed a right of light by way of
a window, into the hall ; and a solicitor was sent to negotiate,
with plenary powers and a cheque-book, the troublesome
aperture. He found a new landlord, who rudely interrupted
his overtures with the remark : "If you've come to talk
about that cursed window you can save your breath. I've
had it bricked up this very morning ! "

The gallery of the first hall had but two sides. The third
was occupied by a horrible collection of "scientific" specimens
called Dr Kahn's Museum, whose last owner was the father
of a now distinguished actor. The first proprietors of the
London Pavilion, Loibl and Sonnhammer by name, made
much money out of Arthur Lloyd, among the first per-
formers habitually styled " Great," who persuaded them to
abolish the refreshment coupon, and to establish a scale of
admission prices. It is a curious characteristic of the London
Pavilion that it has always been dependent on a particular
comic singer — in succession, Leybourne, Macdermott,
Charles Coborn, Dan Leno.

Sonnhanmier separated from Loibl, and established
Scott's Restaurant. Loibl a while later made a monstrous
deal with the old Metropolitan Board of Works, to whom he
sold the property for £109,347. He set up his sons, Edward
and Robert, in a well-known bric-a-brac shop in Wardour
Street, and himself ran Long's Hotel. The Pavilion was

41

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

leased to Edward Villiers, who had been a pompous and
uninteresting comedian at the Haymarket, and one of
many managers of the Canterbury Music Hall. First as
lessee and manager of the Pavilion, then as the dominant
director of its board, he proved a shrewd financier and an
astute showman. In 1882 the Referee charged him with
permitting " foul and festering stuff to be brazed forth in
defiance of decency and decorum," and paid £300 for the
privilege. Villiers lived to a great age ; so did his colleague
and survivor, Hugh Astley, a brother of jolly old sporting
Sir John. Astley's attitude as chairman of a board meeting,
when an expensive engagement was under consideration,
was masterly. " It's a lot of money," he would say,
nodding sagaciously. " It's a devilish lot of money. Of
course if the fellow's a draw — ^there you are. But if he's
not — ^where are you ? " a pronouncement which always left
him free to comment on the event : " What did I always
tell you ? "

For years the Oxford Music Hall was conducted on old-
fashioned lines, without event, in the interests of the heirs of
one Syers. After some vicissitudes it was disposed of to a
limited liability company and linked up with the Pavilion
and the Tivoli — ^the " Syndicate," as it was simply known,
having for its dominant spirit Henry Newson Smith, a city
accountant, who first saw the possibilities of the music hall
from the point of view of high finance ; and who let its
strenuous life kill him just as he neared supremacy.

Where once the Tivoli stood, at the corner of Adam Street
and the Strand, is now an unpleasant pit, its future all un-
certain. During its brief life of twenty-five years no star
arose at the Tivoli, no name is inseparably associated with it

42

THE LONDON PAVILION

as that of Sam Cowell was with the Canterbury, that of
Leyboume with the Royal, Holbom, that of Macdennott
with the London PaviHon. Truly enough, most of the
popular favourites of its generation appeared there. But its
programmes were shaped in accordance with routine rather
than distinguished by sensational discoveries. The nearest
approach to one was the exploitation of Lottie Collins in her
dance, " Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay," which had already been
done elsewhere and which had had an unspeakable origin in
America. Its English edition was deftly and discreetly made
by Mr Richard Morton.

What may be said of the Tivoli was that it developed
from the model of the London Pavilion, a type then new to
the West End, and it retained to the last, in entertainment

I and in entourage, a certain characteristic of the music hall as
distinguished from the variety theatre.
It was another outgrowth of an inn. Many a still young
Londoner can recall the four streets — ^John, Robert, James
ftnd William Streets — built by the brothers Adam, who gave
their Christian names to their handiwork, and after whom
this particular district was called the " Adelphi," from the
Greek word signifying brothers. The site was occupied by
Durham House, a palace built by Anthony de Beck, Bishop
of Durham in Edward I.'s reign. Here Henry VIII. gave
a great tournament on his marriage with Anne of Cleves.
And here, after centuries, young London learned to drink
lager beer in the so-called Tivoli Bier Garten, a saloon adorned
by vast and daring pictures. The cellars ran towards those
mysterious "Dark Arches" beloved of sensational writers
about London life in Mid -Victorian days.

Should the Tivoli disappear (with that inestimable benefit

43

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

of a liquor licence, for which the London Hippodrome and
the London Coliseum so desperately strive), it will leave the
Strand without a music hall ; though there were predecessors.
The Tivoli stood within a stone's throw of the Coal Hole and
the Cider Cellars, from which Thackeray drew his Cave of
Harmony and Back Kitchen — ^not exactly, it should be
noted. They combined to form an impression. Farther
east was the Dr Johnson, another prehistoric music hall.
And there was actually the Strand Musick Hall, where the
" Great " Alfred Vance, and '' Jolly John " Nash alternated
with the masque of Comus ! The Strand is often cited as the
forerunner of the Gaiety Theatre. The truth is, the Strand
Musick Hall occupied a site which formed little more than the
entrance hall of the first Gaiety. Here, maybe, Vance sang :

" Slap, bang, here we are again.
Here we are again ; here we are again.
Slap bang, here we are again —
Such jolly dogs are we ! '-

The Tivoli Music Hall, with an associated restaurant,
opened, just short of twenty-five years ago, with great eclat
Edward Terry was the chairman and added to words of
condescension toward the new art a pious hope that there
was money in it. There was not. The Tivoli came to grief.

It was seized upon and reconstructed by Newson Smith,
and it became, in his hands — the quotation is apt in that it
fitted him too — ^the "fair embodiment of fat dividends."
Its social side was important. It was the rendezvous of
managers and artists from the world over. Once, it became
the rendezvous of a particularly smart kind of " sportsmen,"
but that is another story and comes into the history of the
great Gk)udie bank frauds, not of this occasion. The veteran

44

THE LONDON PAVILION

Charles Morton was the figure-head of the new Tivoli — his
half-way house between the Alhambra and the Palace. And
the late George Adney Payne, ensuing to Newson Smith,
was its dominant influence — o, big, cavalry kind of man, to
whom the greatest artist was " my lad," and who was prob-
ably the last music hall magnate whom a hundred-guinea
serio respectfully but affectionately addressed as " Guv'nor."
With Pajme's death the genius of showmanship departed
from the Tivoli. Its difficulties and dissensions became
acute. It fell, languid and grateful, into the arms of the
Strand Improvement Schemers.

45

CHAPTER VII

THE OLD MOGUL

Nell Gwynne in Drury Lane — The Chairman — Dan Leno's First
Appearance — Marie Lloyd's Noviciate

WHEN lately the Old Mogul, or " Mo," in Drury
Lane became a palace too, and black-ey'd beauties
from Montmartre tripped impudently adown a
" joy plank " to the amazement of the old inhabitants, some
historian sought to identify Nell Gwynne with the Middlesex.
I fear he had little better authority than his imagination.
But truly enough the Mogul Tavern, with its twin, the
Middlesex Music Hall, can go a long way back. It seems
pretty certain there was some place of entertainment on
this site in the days of Charles II. And shouting oranges
makes dusty throats. All through living memory there has
been a music hall in Drury Lane, homely and elemental,
the robust mother of celebrity. Describing a visit paid to
the Mogul in 1838, the editor of The Penny Paul Pry said :
" We were agreeably surprised to notice the improvement
which had taken place as regards the order kept in the room.
We did not see a fight all the evening, neither did we see any
police officer enter the place. We cannot in justice help
acknowledging that the room is fitted up with good taste,
and is really about as well adapted for its purpose as any
concert-room in London."
I did not, without regret, share in the opening festivities

46

THE OLD MOGUL

at the new hall, when Mr Oswald StolPs arms were quartered
with those of the ancient proprietors. For the Middlesex
was a place of many memories. I suppose Mr J. L. Graydon
made the first advance toward civilisation when he displayed
the legend : " No person can be admitted to this hall unless
suitably attired." A sweep, in inky trappings, tendered
fourpence at the pit door, and was sternly bidden by the
Madam Graydon of that time to read the notice. He
admitted that he could not. When it was read to him, he
still asked for an explanation — ^the words were infinitely
beyond him. He was gently reminded that he lacked, for
instance, a collar. " Collar, missis ! " he cried. " Collar !
Do you take people for blooming dogs ? "

When the Chairman had retired from nearly every other
hall he lingered at the Middlesex, a genial, jovial, diplomatic
person, who introduced each artist with deft laudation, who
watched the temper of his audience, and, with the infinite
intonations of his hammer encouraged its applause, or over-
whelmed its discontent. He found plentiful leisure to shine
upon a little court filling the eagerly sought chairs around
is own particular table. Their occupants shed cigars and
'drink upon him ; and more substantial tokens, at seasons.
Ever and anon passionate cries of his Christian name would
come from the gallery : " 'Array e ! 'Arraye ! " He would
vouchsafe an occasional bow, in response. He could be stem.
Two unfortunate artists had been soundly hissed. But when
he procured silence he declared, with dignity : " In spite of all,
ladies and gentlemen, the Sisters Trippit will oblige again."

Pictures of Harry Fox, the historic chairman of the
Middlesex Music Hall, still abound in music hall land. He
had a nose that might shame Cyrano, and a complexion of

47

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

rich old mahogany. On Sunday nights he still presided in the
smoke-room of the Mogul Tavern, which became a mart for
music hall artists. An obliging little man, by name Ambrose
Maynard, offered for a fee of a shilling to note in his
memorandum-book the contracts effected at these Sunday
gatherings. He was the first music hall agent ; and out of
his memorandum-book has grown a business now putting
hundreds of thousands a year into the pockets of its professors
and lately needing an Act of Parliament for its regulation.
A music hall manager of the day bitterly reproached a
" lion comique " with allowing Maynard to intervene in their
hitherto pleasant (but probably one-sided) relations. "D'ye
see, guv'nor, I can't read, nor write, myself," was the
complete, and no doubt perfectly truthful, explanation of
the artist.

I have a collection of the Middlesex programmes dating
back to 1872 — a priceless record. On 5th October 1885
the announcement is made of the first appearance in London
of Dan Leno, " the great Irish comic vocalist and present
champion dancer." I believe the honour of Dan's introduc-
tion to town is claimed also by the Foresters' Music Hall, but
he may have worked both halls. Milk for the Twins was
the delectable ditty he sang. But neither hall can really
claim his first appearance, for " Little George, the infant
wonder, contortionist and posturer," appeared at the
Cosmotheca Music Hall, Paddington, in 1864, being then
somewhat short of four years. Meanwhile he served three
hard apprenticeships, separated from the vagabond and
versatile Leno Family ; and married.

Miss Marie Lloyd was a popular favourite at the Middlesex
before she was so eagerly sought after, farther west, as an

48

THE OLD MOGUL

exponent of the " other eye " philosophy. Songs of that
day were :

" Oh ! Jeremiah, don't you go to sea !
Oh ! Jeremiah, stay along o' me ! ' -

— and an audacious essay in mischievousness which never
failed to do its work — The Boy I Love is up in the Gallery.
I read the other day, incredulously, that Marie Lloyd, whose
very own name is Matilda Wood, was a pupil teacher ! I
think in fact she learned dressmaking — an art in which she has
commercial proficiency still, and fine taste. But she began
her professional career so early in life that there can have
been no really important chapter preceding. She was little
more than a girl when she married ; and a tiny thing in long
clothes was the strange companion of the " Queen of Comedy"
when I had the honour of my introduction, at the Oxford.
Naturally, her age was over-estimated in the days of her
celebrity. She presented herself, with a fine, family entourage,
at the office of a theatrical newspaper, and deposited in the
safe keeping of its editor a certificate of her birth, on 12th
February 1870, so that he might confound all future
calumniators.

One of the very rare tragedies of the music hall occurred
at the Middlesex, when an unhappy human target was shot
by a rifle expert. But the hall has often been a battle-ground
for less sanguinary encounters. Times and again have the
elaborate comic and dramatic " sketches," which for years
formed the staple of its programme, induced legal proceedings.
The magistrate on occasion sympathised with Mr Graydon,
and gave his show a certificate of good character and salutary
influence. But fined him all the same. We have changed
D 49

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

all that, if by an irregular process. The dramatic sketch, for
which music hall managers have fought and bled during half-
a-century, is now recognised, not by statute law, but by
grace of the Lord Chamberlain. Sir Herbert Tree is just as
free to play Trilby at the Middlesex as Mr Granville Barker
is to play Shakespeare, or something like Shakespeare, or
Shakespeare like nothing, at the Savoy.

50

CHAPTER VIII

THE VITAL SPARK

Jenny Hill ; A Sordid Girlhood — A Dramatic Debut at the London
Pavilion — A " Memorable At Home " — Bessie Bellwood

A WAN and stricken woman, in dull apartments at
Brixton, told me the story of her life, soon to end,
in its early forties. She had made the world laugh
and sometimes weep. She had earned thousands — and not
deliberately squandered them. With trembling fingers she
turned over photographs, and treasured newspaper cuttings,
to adorn her tale ; and one document, her apprenticeship
indenture, the most wicked bond I have ever encountered,
as between an artist and a manager. Poor Jenny Hill !
How grim in its satire seemed then the name she had gloried
in — ^the Vital Spark. Without hesitation, without fear of
contradiction from my contemporaries, or her colleagues, I
would claim for Jenny Hill that in her day and generation
she was the supreme genius of the Variety Stage. The public
knew it too — ^the eager public that has taken the horses from
her tiny brougham, its lamps always quaintly endorsed with
her name.

I have heard a dozen stories of her origin, which was very
humble, certainly — that her father was a cab-minder, hanging
about a rank in Marylebone. She worked in an artificial-
flower factory in that neighbourhood, whereof the pro-
prietor also owned the neighbouring Marylebone Music Hall,

51

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

one " Bob " Sotting. And he would throw a few coppers
to little Jenny, to make her sing : it so encouraged the other
workers. Strangely, in her last illness, she foimd pleasure
in twisting the paper flowers again.

Her first appearance on the stage (on the authority of both
the parties) was made at the Aquarium Theatre, West-
minster, in a pantomime produced by Joe Cave, who died but
lately in the Charterhouse, to which the fine old actor had
been admitted by the intercession of King Edward. Mother
Goose was the pantomime, and little Jenny was the legs of
a goose. Fearful of losing their clothes, the ballet children
would make them into a bundle, to be carried on the head —
over all, the goose mask. Jenny lost her way in the maze
of the pantomime, lifted the mask, and found herself, a
solitary, weeping, half-naked urchin, in the centre of the foot-
lights, the conductor swearing freely, the audience shouting
with laughter.

Soon, Jenny was apprenticed, for seven years, to a north
country publican, to learn the trade of a serio-comic singer,
and otherwise to make herself generally useful as the house-
hold drudge. It is all set out in the bond. The licensing
laws were very lax in those days, and on market days the
farmers would sit over their cups till one and two o'clock in
the morning. While ever they lingered, the poor little serio-
comic singer and dancer must be ready to take the stage of
the "free and easy." And at five o'clock in the morning
she must be alert, to scrub floors, polish pewter or bottle
beer, at which she became quite an adept. At noon, the
performances began again.

She married an acrobat, and he taught her his trade, not
too kindly, as she had reason to remember throughout her

52

Jenny Hill: singing "The Coffee Shop Gai. "

Photog^-aph : Sarony

THE VITAL SPARK

life. Hardly out of her teens, she found herself haunting
the offices of the agents, in York Road ; standing unnoticed,
day after day, a child in her arms, in the crowded waiting-
rooms. One morning, with fearful courage, she waylaid the
autocrat of the community ; and he gave her a note, which
he bade her take full speed to Loibl of the London Pavilion.
He advised a cab, lest the opportunity be lost. But Jenny
walked, baby in arms, because

Loibl read the note, and told the girl she might try her
luck in the evening. She did, with such success that the
'* Great " George Leybourne was kept waiting at the wings.
The audience wanted more of its new favourite, and was
not appeased till Leybourne, who was a pleasant fellow,
took the slender creature in his arms, and held her up to view.
There was a roar of laughter, and Champagne Charley was
allowed to proceed.

Then Loibl was as good as his word, and gave Jenny an
engagement, adding a glass of wine which made the starving
woman light-headed. He congratulated her upon the agent
who had brought her to his notice. " You might like to
keep his letter," said the manager; " for it certainly com-
pelled me to see you." And this is how it read :

" Dear Loibl, — ^Don't trouble to see the bearer. I have
merely sent her up to get rid of her. She's troublesome.
Yours, A. M."

Jenny Hill's fortune was made ; but a modest fortune,
comparatively. Alive, to-day, she would certainly command
from two hundred to three hundred pounds a week, not
to speak of America. But I doubt if her normal salary,

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

excluding " benefits," pantomime engagements, and African
excursions, ever exceeded a hundred pounds a week.

She was Httle, sharp-featured, and pretty on the stage,
but terribly scarred by illness, on inspection. She could sing
a tawdry ballad, as Sweet Violets, with effect ; and she made
a brilliant pantomime boy. But she was at her best in
Cockney impersonation, as of Arry, describing the joys of
Southend, and particularly of " The Coffee Shop Gal," a
weary slut, with humorous impressions of her customers,
and skill in that mileamable dance the " Cellar Flap." Such
things induced the belief that Jenny Hill might become a
star on the " regular " theatre, as Nan in Good for Nothing,
for instance. But she was a failure.

In her brave days she lived at a pretty place called the
Hermitage, at Streatham, a straggling, secluded bungalow
with a little farm-land, where a royal person had once hidden
a romance. Jenny Hill used to bring the farm produce to
town in her brougham, and assiduously vend it to her
friends; but the adventure proved a costly failure. The
Hermitage was the scene of one of the most wonderful
gatherings ever seen in music hall land. It was on a Sunday
in 1890 ; and the guest of honour was Tony Pastor, then the
important music hall manager of America — its modern
magnates, the Keiths and the Williamses and the Becks, were
still unheard of. The vast commerce of English and American
artists had not begun. And Jenny Hill's visit to the States
about that time was almost the first of a London favourite
to New York.

To the Hermitage that summer Sunday went every music
hall celebrity of the day. The arrivals began at ten o'clock
in the morning, and everyone was greeted imder the Stars

54

THE VITAL SPARK

id Stripes with a freshly opened pint of champagne. There
Iwas a luncheon ; there was afternoon tea in the grounds,

lere was a dinner, with many speeches, and there were
eariy morning travellers to London by the workmen's train.

But, indeed, there was no note so human as Bessie Bellwood's
shriek of delight when she heard a hawker crying winkles
down the lane. His stock, on a japanned tea-tray slung
round his neck, was promptly commandeered. The shocked
footmen, handing round tea, were dispatched for pins ;
and the immortal singer of Wot cheer, Ria, whose real name
was Mahoney, and who claimed to be a descendant of
" Father Prout," but who, more certainly, began life as a
rabbit skinner, in the New Cut, carefully divided her spoils
among many applicants.

Poor Jenny Hill ! Prosperity was to leave her, but never
popularity. Illness overtook her, and she faded away from
the gaze of the public, which surely never knew her adversity,
or it must have rallied in its thousands. She tried a visit to
Africa, but came home worse than she went and finally found
a refuge with her daughter, Peggy Pryde, who is not without
her talent. Jenny Hill's supreme weakness was speech-
making. At the London Pavilion her four or five songs were
always supplemented by a voluble address of thanks to her
dear public, which never occupied less time than her con-
tracted performance had done. And an audience, admiring
her skill, knowing of her good heart, and truly loving her,
never found her tiresome — or at any rate admitted it.

55

CHAPTER IX

MUSIC HALL SOCIETY

Dan Leno's Drawing-room — The " Great Lion Comique " — The
Modesty of Genius — A Series of Sisters — Peer and Peri

WHEN I remember that wonderful party at
Streatham, with its ingenuous ostentation, its
polychromatic vulgarity, its sincere and hearty
generosity, I am tempted to wonder if the new society of
the music hall is preferable to the old society. Perhaps the
moment is not fairly chosen for a comparison. Years must
pass ere the new generation of music hall performers has
really arisen. The change of the old order is not complete.
The new order has yet to develop any characteristic charm
and interest. It is full of its own importance — artistic
and economic ; purse-proud, and rather illiterate.

It is nothing to its discredit, quite the contrary, that the
genius of the variety stage was bred in the gutter, and bom
in a pot-house. If the same cannot be said of the theatrical
artist, still, it is true of him that nine-tenths of the well-
known actors and actresses of yesterday, and the day before,
were of very humble origin. The fact that such a man as
Dan Leno, without education, without the inspiration of an
author, without the discipline of a stage manager, without
any adventitious aid, should have been able to make so
tremendously effective an appeal to the imagination, is the
greater tribute to his genius.

56

MUSIC HALL SOCIETY

I shall never forget my first meeting with him. I was
ushered into a wonderful drawing-room, all yellow and green
plush, and bronze figures, and marble vases, and flower-pots
on bamboo tripods ; so dimly lighted that I fell headlong
across the skull of a tiger still attached to the skin forming the
hearthrug. Dan came from his hiding-place behind a screen,
wreathed in smiles. " They mostly does that," he said.

Thanks to many circumstances, Dan Leno did not leave a
great fortune. A dozen performers of to-day have probably
accumulated ten times his ten thousand, own town and
country houses, and snobbishly inform a new acquaint-
ance that they prefer to cultivate their private friendships
outside the profession.

I would give much to have seen the first music hall
artist begin a banking account. The old stager drew his
" packet " in gold and notes, and carried it on his person,
till it was spent. He was reckless and thriftless. Most of
the old-time celebrities died poor ; some of them in the
workhouse — ^all wrong of course ; and yet, there was some-
thing about those joyous children of the night that has gone.

When William Holland, the " People's Caterer," took the
Canterbury, he covered the entire floor with a carpet of
quality. One of his advisers remonstrated. The rude
fellows affecting the pit would surely spit on it. The
instinct of one of the greatest, although one of the most
unfortunate, showmen of our time was aroused. Half
London was gazing in a few hours at this invitation on the
hoardings : " Come and spit on Bill Holland's thousand-
guinea carpet." In such an atmosphere, kind hearts beat
freely ; and coronets sometimes fell awry. Buy a pro-
fessional newspaper to-day and read its sedate, its sordid

57

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

announcements. Then compare them with the dehcious
reclame of a thirty-year-old Era.

Who was first styled " great " ? It may have been
Mackney, the " delineator of negro character," who certainly
never saw a nigger at home. Or it may have been Alfred
Vance. Which of them added " lion comique " to the
description ? Cole, the ventriloquist whose Merry Men are
a clean and precious memory of the old-time music hall,
called himself Lieutenant Cole ; and no self-respecting
ventriloquist thereafter neglected to provide himself with a
naval or a military title. " Viscount " Walter Munro doubt-
less emulated " Lord " George Sanger. A queer little comic
singer encouraged romantic surmise by describing himself as
' ' The Nobleman's Son. ' ' Papa, I have heard , was a prosperous
Birmingham tradesman. He bought old shoes, mended and
varnished them, and retailed them alfresco. " Clobberer "
is the technical description of this industry — honourable,
but hardly noble.

Jenny Hill established a fashion when she called herself
"The Vital Spark." These indeed were "few, well- chosen
words," but there was no significance in a rival's selection
of " The Vocal Spark." My old Era reminds me of " The
Glittering Star of Erin," a clever Irish vocalist, Nellie
Farrell ; of " The Gem of Comedy," Ada Lundberg, a de-
lightful exponent of Cockney humour who must have sung
Tooral-addy, the while she polished a boot and her nose
alternately, thousands of times at the London Pavilion. Miss
Vesta Tilley, " The London Idol," was soon confronted by
Miss Millie Hylton as "The People's Idol." Miss Kate
Harvey had the disagreeing distinctions of being a " Simple
Country Maid " and also " London's Leading Serio- Comic

58

MUSIC HALL SOCIETY

Lady." She proceeded to state that she was " allowed to be
one of the finest figures on the music hall stage. Proportion,
perfection, natural golden hair (not a wig) which so many of
the serio-comics have copied." Miss Lily Mamey "wished
to avoid mistakes " by the record that she was " the original
lady to wear comedy stockings and spring side boots ; also,
the original 'There's 'air.'" Miss Lizzie Villiers briefly
stated : " There is Only One Champion Lady Clog Dancer —
Our Liz." I like " The acknowledged Sarah Bernhardt of
the music halls — vide Press." Another lady with dignity
condensed her qualities into the line : " None but herself
can be her parallel. — Shakespeare.^^ On leaving Leeds the
" Original Tootsie Sloper " was twice grateful. She thanked
her manager, whom she described as "Esq.," for a "most
comfortable engagement," and wished to assure "all pros."
that they would find the best lodgings at an address she gave.
I am afraid that a postscript to the advertisement of one well-
known comedian reminding another well-known comedian
of " the slight service rendered at Manchester on Saturday
night, six weeks ago " had reference to a benefit forgot.

What domestic tragedy was enclosed between these
parentheses of a beamish pantomime boy " The only and
original Mrs ..." Quite conclusive was the assertion :" They
may pinch my talent but they can't spoil my beauty." A
frenzied favourite asked : " What price this, you blooming
kippers ? Went better than ever at Bolton last week. All
dates filled for two years," but added the inharmonious
postscript : " Monday next unexpectedly vacant. Wire
offers." Another lady declared that she was " going bigger
than ever after her recent bereavement. Kind regards to
all friends." The catholicity of the profession is exhibited

59

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

in " Pianist wanted for a free-and-easy. One who can brew
preferred." And again, candidates are invited for inclusion
in a guitar band. There is the inevitable P.S., meant obvi-
ously for a rival impresario, "I said players; not string
ticklers."

Conning this old Era, I am constrained to wonder what
has become of all the Sisters. Two or three girls singing
and dancing in unison were an inevitable feature of every
music hall programme for years. There were sisters even
in old Canterbury days — the Sisters Brougham, two beautiful
women, accomplished musicians, one of whom became the
mother of Violet Cameron. The greatest vogue was that
of the Sisters Leamar, who collaborated with the staff of The
Sporting Times in the establishment of a restaurant, originally
of modest style and dimensions, legally described, but never
known, as the Cafe Vaudeville —

*' Romano's, Italiano

Paradise in the Strand" —

sang these buxom beauties, who will be more readily
associated with —

'* Two girls of good Society,
We dance, we sing !
We're models of propriety.
Too wise to wear the ring.'*

Their songs were wont to be paraphrases of waltz refrains.
Mind you inform your Father, for instance, is akin to My
Queen Waltz.

As for the " good society," the Leamars were the daughters
of one " Cokey " Lewis, whose trade, followed in the New Cut,
is apparent from his nickname. He became the devoted
attendant of his prosperous girls. When, having settled

60

MUSIC HALL SOCIETY

into their first substantial house at Brixton, they gave a great
party to their West End clients, the old man was found by an
expeditionary guest toying with the taps of the bath. He
watched the copious flow of water in wonder and amaze.
Then looking over his shoulder at the intruder remarked in a
grimly humorous way : " Someone's going to be drownded
in this blooming thing ; and it won't be me ! ".

I am not aware that the Sisters Richmond or the Sisters
Grosvenor — ^' The Daisy Cutters " vide advertisement —
were related to the ducal families whose names they bore.
But one of the Sisters Bilton, who used to sing :

" Fresh, fresh, fresh as the new-mown hay,"

married the Earl of Clancarty. Poor Countess Belle is dead.
One hears she made an exemplary wife. These unions
are not apt, however, to make for happiness. A popular
favourite of the burlesque stage, who married into the peerage
too, used to address to her old friends savagely humorous
letters, descriptive of the society she enjoyed in the seclusion
of her stately home — just an insolent annual, ostentatiously
parochial visit from the rector, whose " wife, thank God,
declined to accompany him ; otherwise, cut by the County ! "
My lady's state may still have been more gracious than that
of the music hall agent who, after three years' residence in ja,
fashionable suburb, gleefully reports that he is now received
everywhere, " except at the golf club."

Experience has not proved the music hall artist to be a
very effective club-man. Attempts to associate him in this
fashion have failed, from the Junior Garrick Club onwards.
At several of the old-time music halls the police used to over-
look the fact that a private bar was. kept open for the use of

6i

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

the artists and their friends till one or two o'clock in the
morning — ^just harmless conviviality. This did not conduce
to early rising. A stroll to the " York Corner," a stretch of
pavement off Waterloo Road where there was once a regular
colony of agents, would kill the day. On Sunday a drive to
Hampton Court was the correct thing. And then a joyous
gathering at the Kennington or Brixton home of the " lion
comique."

Charles Godfrey was one of the last of the irresponsible
roy sterers. A game pudding of Gargantuan size used to grace
his Sunday evening board, and one night a bibulous cook
served it by the simple process of rolling it down a flight of
stairs. Each hungry guest contrived to intercept a fragment.
A superior person once thought to snub Godfrey by remarking
that he had never heard one of the great man's favourite
songs. Next day forty- six piano-organs played it outside
the incautious creature's house. A nightly attendant at
the Canterbury was a convivial undertaker whose pride it
was to have buried most of the music hall celebrities of his

time in a manner befitting his fame. " Don't let make

a blooming circus of me when I'm gone," were nearly the last
words of the forlorn and forgotten comedian.

For years the inner life of the music hall artist was un-
noticed by the novelist, excepting F. W. Robinson, who is
said to have " discovered " Barrie, and to have opened to
him the pages of his magazine. Home Chimes. Robinson
wrote moderately, and even affectionately, of music hall life,
which has recently furnished material for quite a good deal
of lurid fiction. Dickens, of course, had " done " the circus
in Hard Times. But circus people never allowed his
picture to have merit.

62

CHAPTER X

EAST END ENTERTAINMENT

The Britannia Festival — "Saloons" and their Style — Champagne
Charley and Hamlet — Pavilion Celebrities — Grand Opera
at the Standard— Kate Vaughan's Origin

" "I A AST is East and West is West, and never the
■H twain shall meet " ; but the disposition of the

^ ^ entertainments of East and West London is to
bely the poet. They used to differ not only as to East and
West. South of the Thames, " transpontine " was the word,
lay another colony more akin to the eastern group, still with
a distinction. But the old types have disappeared. The
East-ender and the Surrey-sider come west, or indulge the
picture palace habit, with an occasional divagation to a
suburban empire. The pleasure palaces of the east and of
the south-east are metragobolised, or missing. The world-
famous Britannia Theatre at Hoxton, after many vicissitudes,
has become a picture palace of sorts. The Surrey Theatre
is a " popular " music hall, the Pavilion Theatre, once proudly
" The Drury Lane of the East," opens its doors occasionally
to casual visitorswith Yiddish drama. The Standard Theatre
is a Hippodrome or an Empire.

To the old stager what memories these names recall ! Nor
need he be such a very old stager. In the nineties what play-
goer worth his salt would have willingly missed the Britannia
pantomime, in which the septuagenarian Sara Lane would

63

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

play principal boy, in all the bravery of tights and trunks, to
the delight of the gallery boys, who worshipped her ; or the
still more interesting Britannia Festival, which was in the
nature of a benefit and a levee. Old-fashioned fare was
served up with old-fashioned liberality at the Britannia —
a farce, a melodrama, an extravaganza, the interstices stuffed
with songs and dances and acrobatic antics still failed to surfeit
an audience which began to assemble at six o'clock and went
home hungry at midnight. No ! Hungry " is not the
word." For few restaurants get rid of so much solid food as
the Britannia audience would consume during its five or six
hours' dramatic debauch. Men walked to and fro incessantly
with trays groaning beneath the weight of pies in infinite
variety, thick slices of bread plastered with jam, chunks of
cheese, slabby sandwiches, fried fish, shell-fish, jellied eels.
Gallons of ale washed down mountains of food.

The Festival was a function unique in my recollections
of the stage. Toward midnight, the regular programme
having been faithfully worked off, the curtain would rise again
in a strange moment of silence. The shouts of waiters, the
grunts of satisfied hunger, the recriminations of gallery critics,
the shrieks of babies — ^all were hushed. Enthroned in the
centre of the stage was her Britannic majesty — the tragedy
queen. Prince Pretty-pet, grand almoner and all combined,
of Hoxton. I believe Sara Lane divided with Father Kelly
the freedom of Nile Street. Around her on the occasion of
the Festival were ranged the members of her company, each
dressed in a " favourite character " ; a polychromatic court
whose constituents came forward one by one to make dutiful
obeisance to the Queen, what time a pompous old elocutionist
recited an appropriate, original verse of a yard-long doggerel ;

64

EAST END ENTERTAINMENT

a presentation to Madam from her grateful servants ; presents
from her in exchange, approving yells from all parts of the
theatre, and, most interesting of all, " well-chosen " gifts
showered on the members of the company by their admirers,
as each retired from the presence — not ephemeral flowers or
tawdry trinkets, but joints of meat, rolls of flannel, packets
of tea, umbrellas, stockings — selected, I doubt not, with
exact knowledge that Juliet was a respectable married
woman, really, with a large family ; and that Claud
Melnotte's salary was not calculated to overload the Sunday
dinner- table. Sara I ane died a few years ago, advanced in
years and wealthy. I am not concerned with the adventures
of her old home after her death.

She received the Britannia as a sacred trust from her
husband and former manager, Samuel Lane, who had
secured the services in perpetuity of a pretty soubrette,
Sara Wilton, by marrying her. The Britannia Theatre
developed fro^n the Britannia Saloon, as the Britannia Saloon,
after narrowly escaping extinction for an illegal performance,
had developed from the Britannia Tavern. The saloons were
fore-nmners of the music hall. They had a particular licence
which prevented the performance of Shakespeare but per-
mitted the consumption of food and drink and tobacco
indiscriminately. In the course of time the saloon licence
was abolished — ^the proprietors had the alternative of rising
to the dignity of the theatre or sinking to the level of the
music hall. The only other saloons of much interest for these
presents were the Grecian Saloon, which became the Grecian
Theatre, in City Road, and the Effingham Saloon, Whitechapel,
which became the East London Theatre, and was lately
destroyed by fire, as Wonderland, an East End correspondent
E 65

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

to the National Sporting Club. The popular idol at the East
London Theatre was one Harry Simmons, who in the course
of a melodrama inherited a million of money. " What shall
I do with it, what shall I do with it ? " he mused. " Well,
'Arry, I should buy a pair of boots, first," said a gallery
boy with friendly candour.

George Leyboume, the " lion comique," owned the East
London Theatre at one time, and to brace up business would
drive down from the west to sing Champagne Charley
whenever the opportunity occurred. Time being precious,
any performance was peremptorily halted directly his
brougham was heard. He rattled off Champagne Charley
and away again, it might even be as an interlude to Hamlet's
soliliquy. His leading man, Raynor, would give vent to
furious rage on these occasions. One night he tapped
Leybourne on the breast with the ponderous statement :
" The difference between me, sir, and you, sir, is the difference
between heaven and hell." With incredible aptitude Ley-
boume cried : " Facilis descensus Avemi — ^and don't you
wish it was true, my hoy ! "

Across the road is the vast Paragon Music Hall, telling
again the story of attenuated dividends. Built on the site
of an old tea-garden it was for years the objective of a
fanatical apostle of temperance, who used to exhort its patrons
to turn their backs on hell, and who defied all attempts at
police restraint. Mr Frederick Charrington, who is under-
stood to have sacrificed a million of money rather than
participate in the profits of the drink trade, distinguished
himself quite recently again by an incursion to the House of
Conmions.

A few hundred yards westward from the Paragon, the

66

EAST END ENTERTAINMENT

Pavilion Theatre once had a reversion of Drury Lane
drama, and did it uncommonly well. I have seen three
generations of the Lloyd family disport in pantomime here.
Bessie Bellwood once asked a friend to prompt her in a few
words of Yiddish so that, on the occasion of her benefit at
the Pavilion, she might suitably return thanks to her loyal
Hebrew supporters. " Wish 'em a meese meschinna," said
the rascal. She did, and there was a riot ; for it means " A
sudden death to you ! " The Pavilion doubtless occurs to
many only in association with "The Whitechapel Murder,"
as it was called, before there were other Whitechapel murders
more horrible. A sanctimonious commercial traveller, Henry
Wainwright, murdered his mistress, Harriet Lane, a ballet
girl at the Pavilion, and believed he had burned her body in
destructive chemicals, whereas he had used a preservative !

It is, I believe, the fact that the Standard Theatre, in
Bishopsgate, was rebuilt by the elder Douglass without the
aid of an architect. It used to find support for an opera
season, doubtless from the many Jews in the neighbourhood.
At another time H. J. Byron, seeing the house half empty,
asked Douglass what had become of his audience. " Gone
west, to Covent Garden," said the old man. "To pick
pockets, I suppose," conmiented the irrepressible Byron.

John Douglass, a later proprietor, had a genius for stage
effect, and for years jealously watched Harris's productions
at Drury Lane, which he claimed habitually reproduced his
"sensations." A letter from Douglass to The Era was
the inevitable sequel to a Drury Lane first night :

" Seeing that a hansom cab is used in the new drama
at Drury Lane, I beg to state that a hansom cab, drawn by

67

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

a live horse, was first employed in my drama . . . produced
at the Standard Theatre in . . ."

— ^and so on, with real rain, a real flood, a real balloon. The
little man's statements were mostly indestructible.

One moiety of the Victoria Theatre, near Waterloo Station,
is now a temperance lecture hall ; the other, shops and ware-
houses. Originally the Coburg, it was known to its more
respectful patrons as ." Queen Victoria's Own Theayter,"
and to the more affectionate as " The Bleeding Vic," from
the character of the plays most accustomed. A particularly
popular performance here was that of Oliver Twist, with a
Nancy capable of being dragged round the stage by her own
hair. The gallery would follow her progress with the foulest
imprecations. It may interest the curious to know that the
original of Henry Leigh's poem, When I played the Villains
at the Vic, was John Bradshaw, a ponderous tragedian of
that house. The Victoria Theatre was the alma mater of
incomparable Nellie Farren. I recall a rich and rare
comedian in the melodrama called Grace Darling : The
Wreck off the Goodwin Sands. He had little to say except :
" I've had two of rum shrub," and therefrom to increase,
as he got drxmker : " I've had two twos of rum shrub," up
to, it may be, " I've had twenty-two twos of rum shrub."
Cave, then the manager, afterwards identified this genius for
me as James Fawn, to become famous as the singer of If
you want to know the Time, ask a Policeman.

If the Surrey Theatre, built as a circus in the long ago to
compete with Philip Astley, thereafter a Shakespearean house,
had done no more for the popular entertainment, it might
claim consideration as a wonderful training school for

68

EAST END ENTERTAINMENT

writers of melodrama, in succession to the Grecian, from which
the Conquests migrated. George Conquest was a remarkable
man — a. daring acrobat, an inventive stage mechanician,
an ingenious maker of " properties," a fair actor (though he
stuttered badly), a shrewd manager, and a clever writer of
melodrama — say, rather, clever in the adaptation of drama
from the French stage, of which his knowledge was extensive
and pecuhar. In the days when three-fifths of our "original "
plays were unacknowledged adaptations from the French,
critics of importance knew of no better expedient when they
were in doubt of being fooled than to hurry off to George
Conquest, sunmiarise the story, and be sure that in an instant
he would enlighten them as to the French original. When
an English author read to him the first half of a play founded
on Leonard, which we know as The Ticket-of-Leave Man,
Conquest blandly took up the recital and summarised the
second half for his discomfited visitor. Paul Meritt,
originally a salesman in a carpet warehouse, Henry Pettitt,
Arthur Shirley all frankly and gratefully acknowledged
George Conquest as their preceptor. And Madam Conquest,
in her capacity of a ballet mistress, gave us Kate Vaughan.

But that was at the Grecian, a tea-garden and theatre
attached to the Eagle Tavern,

'* Up and down the City Road,
In and out the Eagle.
That's the way the money goes.
Pop goes the weazel ! "

— ^ran the old song. The weazel is an instrument used in
tailoring, I believe ; the suggestion, that its deposit with the
pawnbroker was the last resort of the drunkard.

69

CHAPTER XI

THE LOST THEATRES OF LONDON

Old-time Death-traps — Value of Theatre Property — Growth of
the Suburban Houses — Boucicault at Astley's — Adah Isaacs
Menken — Mrs Langtry and the Methodists — Mr Keith of New
York

WHAT a change in the architecture of the London
theatres a generation has seen — not merely an
increase in external beauty and importance,
but an improvement in every structural detail, and in the
safeguards against disaster. Honour to whom honour is due.
And that is, chiefly, to the London County Council. No
doubt it overworked its powers. Acts of official tyranny
and eccentric insistence were not unknown. The disposition
of the theatrical manager was to exaggerate and to antagon-
ise this phase ; to piteously resent frequent and heavy
demands upon his purse — ^which, after all, was of no pubUc
concern — ^to fulfil requirements grudgingly, and to represent
the County Council, on all occasions, as a malignant autocrat,
whereas it is now generally recognised as mainly a public
benefactor. Many of the theatres of thirty years ago were
death-traps. Some of the most pretentious were foully
insanitary. En parenthese : when the County Council insisted
that its powers extended to the Augean stable of music hall
humour, it did not a little good there, also ; though the
cleansing process is still terribly incomplete.

70

THE LOST THEATRES OF LONDON

With the Savoy Theatre, built with money coined at the
Opera Comique out of the early Gilbert and Sullivan operas
— ^as the earnings of The Colonel built the Prince's, as those
of Dorothy built the Lyric, and as those of Sweet Lavender
made Edward Terry the owner of the house to which he had
prematurely given his name — ^D'Oyly Carte was allowed to
have said the last word in theatre structure. Recent County
Council specifications for improvements peremptorily de-
manded after an interval of little more than thirty years,
formed an interesting commentary on the praise so lavishly
bestowed upon the original Savoy.

What, again, is remarkable is the fact that the number
of the London theatres does not appreciably increase. The
music halls grow. But for almost every new theatre, one
can cite an old one that has disappeared. One His Majesty's
to another His Majesty's succeeds ; and Gaiety to Gaiety.
In several cases, to the perplexity of the historian, if not of
to-day, of to-morrow, an old name has been clapped on to a
new house. There have been half-a-dozen Queen's Theatres,
three Globes, or more, two Strand Theatres, two Prince's
Theatres, two Prince of Wales's ; and so on.

When Toole took the Folly, which was originally the
Charing Cross Theatre, he borrowed a fashion from America,
and re-named the house once more — Toole's Theatre. In
London this identification of a theatre with a person seems
fatal. Toole was soon on his travels ; and the house was
eventually overwhelmed by the expansion of Charing Cross
Hospital. So with Terry's — the house stands ; theatre no
longer, but picture palace. Daly hardly endured a season
in Daly's Theatre. Sir Charles Wyndham mostly chooses
a domicile other than Wyndham's Theatre. The Hicks

71

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

Theatre soon became the Globe. The Whitney Theatre
figured but for a short interval between the Waldorf and
the Strand.

London playgoing, per head of its population, is small
compared with that of New York, for instance. Were it
equal there could be no more profitable investment of a
million than in the building of ten new theatres in the West
End. It were wise, perhaps, not to dedicate one to music.
That seems fatal. The National Opera House, projected by
Colonel Mapleson, on the Embankment, hung for a long time
between heaven and earth, and then became the head-
quarters of the detective system, as New Scotland Yard.
The Royal English Opera House went a little further. It
even produced an English opera ; then declined to opera
bouffe. Now, the Royal English Opera House is the Palace
Theatre. The tragical story of Hammerstein's London
Opera House is still incomplete.

But, although fortunes are lost in foolish stage speculation,
most of the actual owners of the London theatres draw regular
and satisfactory dividends on the bricks and mortar outlay.
Old John Lancaster, the cotton spinner from the north who
built the Shaftesbury Theatre to gratify the ambition of his
beautiful wife, Ellen Wallis, would grimly contemplate the
balance-sheet of a Shakespearean production ; but always
consoled himself with the reflection that the Shaftesbury,
as a real estate investment, had never failed to yield a
satisfactory return. There was an amusing contretemps on
the first night there. The iron curtain stuck^^ — ^it even refused
to be demolished by hammers ; and the manager, one J. C.
Smith, crippled by gout, had to be wheeled on, in front
of the recalcitrant safety curtain, to dismiss the audience.

72

THE LOST THEATRES OF LONDON

Shaftesbury Avenue emphasises the disposition to central-
ise in theatre building. In the sixties and the seventies the
suburban theatre was undreamed of. There were a dozen
houses remote from Glaring Cross, but there was nothing
parochial in the style of their entertainment, or in the
personnel of their patronage. The West End playgoer,
including the Prince of Wales, cheerfully made the pilgrimage
to Islington to see Dolly Dolaro and Emily Soldene ; or to
Sadler's Wells, or to Marylebone, or to the Surrey, where
Phelps and his seceded comrades, Mrs Warner and Creswick
respectively, most creditably revived Shakespeare ; or to the
Grecian, where at one time the pantomimes shamed Drury
Lane. These theatres were technically " London theatres "
in their day, just as the remnant of the suburban theatre is
actually provincial.

One said the remnant ; for, of the thirty suburban play-
houses that suddenly encircled London, half were soon in
financial difficulties, and now are music halls or picture
houses, or anything. The idea of the suburban theatre was
bom when the Grand Theatre, Islington, abandoned " pro-
ductions," and began, for the sake of economy, to entertain
the touring companies formed to visit the provincial theatres.
Mr J. B. Mulholland, an assiduous actor, with a genius for
management, came to London in charge of a provincial
company, adventuring a season at the Princess's ; and saw
the possibilities of the London suburbs. He spent his leisure
on bus tops, ranging from Uxbridge to Homerton, from
Hampstead Heath to Greenwich ; and his eye fell on
Camberwell Green, where he built the Metropole, and made
a fortime. He had a hundred imitators ; and the suburban
theatre was disastrously overdone.

73

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

None of the earlier outlying theatres has survived. The
Grand Theatre, Islington, which, as the earlier Philharmonic,
played so important a part in the history of the English
stage, has for long been an " Empire " tributary to one of the
great music hall trusts. But it was here that opera bouffe
took deep root, first, to be nurtured by Charles Morton. Its
neighbour, Sadler's Wells, now also a music hall, with the aid
of the Batemans, evicted from the Lyceum, and of Miss
Marriott, the incomparable Jeanie Deans (who used to
advertise with pride the number of thousand times she had
played Hamlet), long tried to live up to the traditions of
Phelps's thirty-four fine revivals of Shakespeare. After
Mrs Warner, a much esteemed lady at whose disposal,
during her last illness. Queen Victoria placed a royal
carriage, ceased to manage the Marylebone, Joe Cave made
a brave struggle, with the aid of such artists as Ben Webster,
Toole, Paul Bedford, Phelps, James Anderson, George
Honey, Walter Montgomery, John Ryder, Charles Warner,
Herman Vezin, Miss Litton, Celeste and Mrs Sterling. But
the famous house sank to the level of a gaff, and finally
became, of course, a music hall.

Within living memory, the City had its very own theatre,
the City of London Theatre, in Cripplegate. It enjoyed its
greatest distinction under Mrs Honnor ; its greatest pros-
perity imder Nelson Lee and Edward Johnson — the last
proprietors of an authentic Richardson's Show. On its site
stands an educational institute. Farther east, the Garrick
Theatre in Whitechapel and the Park Theatre, at Camden
Town, both of which have disappeared — ^the former (never
so distinguished as its name) in flames — ^have no particular
interest for us.

74

THE LOST THEATRES OF LONDON

When Dion Boucicault acquired Astley's Amphitheatre in
1862 he meant to teach the West End managers a lesson.
He addressed a letter to The Times contrasting the dinginess,
ill ventilation and general discomfort of the London theatres
of that time with the Winter Garden of New York — ^the
direction of which he had then recently relinquished. He
offered to head a subscription with five thousand pounds for
the purpose of erecting a suitable and comfortable London
theatre ; and in the meantime he experimented with
Astley's. He converted the circus ring into stalls, pit stalls,
and pit. He laid out a little garden, with intermittent
fountains, between the stalls and the orchestra. Adjoining
the theatre, on the site of what had been known as Astley's
Cottage, he projected a huge cafe, which was to be con-
structed with foyers for promenaders between the acts ; and
an open-air restaurant, on the flat Moorish roof, commanding
the river. All this, if you please, more than half-a-century
ago ! Boucicault never really approached the latter part
of his scheme. He produced a play taken from The Heart
of Midlothian as The Trial of Effie Deans. He was soon
in monetary difficulties and again he came west — ^to the
St James's.

As for Astley's, it enjoyed a vogue which Boucicault
had been unable to procure, while Adah Isaacs Menken,
the beautiful American Jewess, whose four husbands
included John C. Heenan, the " Benicia Boy," played
Mazeppa. London lost its head about her. Dickens
accepted the dedication of a volume of poems which it was
said Swinburne helped her to write — ^though the evidence
is more than doubtful. And after a few years of exultant
recklessness she died penniless, in Paris. The still living

75

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

Kate Santley was a member of her company, and James
Fernandez, who died but recently, Fernandez agreed to
decide a bet made by some noble sportsmen, as to whether
the lovely form nightly posed on the back of a moderately
wild horse, to traverse an ingeniously terraced " rake," was
all Menken's, or partly due to what the costumiers call
" symmetricals," in plain English, padding. Fernandez,
to secure his evidence, gripped the actress with a cruel
firmness when he lifted her to the horse that night ;
and, deeply enraged by his incomprehensible conduct,
she cut his cheek open with a short riding whip she
carried.

For five and twenty years Astley's, acquired by the circus
family of Sanger, alternated between popular drama and
equestrian shows. In 1902 it vanished before street
improvements.

Over the bridge to the Westminster Aquarium — ^to concern
ourselves, for the moment, with its associated theatre only.
Theatrical property has compelled some strange bedfellows.
General Booth, when he bought the Grecian Theatre, found
to his great discomfiture that he had to maintain the Eagle
Tavern as a licensed house. And when the governing body
of the Wesleyan Methodists acquired the Westminster
Aquarium it had to take over Mrs Langtry and her lease of
the Aquarium Theatre, and to connive at their continuance.
But Madam, who had spent a fortune on the reconstruction
and chaste decoration of the theatre, and on a series of
productions which she hoped might resuscitate it, was already
a little tired. She proved amenable to reason, and ready
money. So the Imperial Theatre was merged in the ruin
of the Westminster Aquarium.

76

John C. IIeknan : "Thk Benicia Boy

THE LOST THEATRES OF LONDON

Henry Labouchere, who had graduated in theatrical
management at the Queen's Theatre, Long Acre — ^now a
seed warehouse, memorable for the first association of Ellen
Terry and Irving — ^was the presiding genius of the Aquarium
Theatre, which he opened with Jo, a version of Bleak House
which was not intrinsically better than other adaptations
from Dickens but in which Jenny Lee achieved an historic
success. For a few years, the Imperial Theatre, if it did not
prosper, enjoyed a considerable distinction, by reason of Miss
Marie I>itton's revivals of old comedy. Thereafter, it took
to bad ways. The neighbourhood would be flooded with
free tickets, or "orders." Unhappy man who used one!
When he entered the theatre he was waylaid for a " fee " of
some kind at every turn. His hat, coat, umbrella, were torn
from him by the cloak-room attendants. "Thank you,
madam, I prefer to keep my hat — ^I have neither coat nor
umbrella ! " said a bold fellow of my acquaintance. " Then
you ought to be damned well ashamed of yourself," promptly
retorted the lady.

For fifteen years the Princess's Theatre has been to let.
About that time it was purchased by Benjamin Franklin
Keith, the maker of the American music hall, who meant to
run it, after the fashion of his New York and Boston houses,
with what is called " continuous vaudeville." The enter-
tainment begins midday, and is incessant till midnight,
though the " stars " have appointed times much as they
would have here, say at four o'clock in the afternoon, and ten
o'clock at night ; and intervals are effected, during which
the building clears, by the performance of specially unpalat-
able artists, or " chasers " as they are vividly described.
Your admission fee entitles you, however, to endure the

77

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

twelve hours' performance, if you can ; or you may seek relief
in many apartments adjacent to the main hall — ^tea-rooms,
reading-rooms, writing-rooms. The domestic woman — ^who
would, indeed, hardly overcrowd any American institution —
may bring her baby for deposit in Keith's nursery, complete
her shopping (parcels care of Keith's), summon papa from
his office to meet her at the " family resort " ; then make for
home. Whether London would ever have taken to the idea,
we can only surmise. Keith was obstinate in his structural
scheme. The County Council did not see eye to eye with
him, and he just let the Princess's stand. His most intimate
associate never dared ask him his intentions. But he once
assured me that he had bought at a price which forbade
a serious loss, reckoned by the immense increase in
the value of the land. Recently, it was stated that
a vast hotel would replace Keith's. But this scheme fell
through.

Keith spent much time in London ; but never mixed with
music hall "magnates" here, or received music hall per-
formers. He came and went unknown, though he could never
be mistaken, after one encounter — a. heavily built man, very
bald, with a thick moustache, habitually wearing a black
frock coat, a black " bow," an old-fashioned silk hat. He
was shrewd, inquiring, reserved. He began life with what
is called a " privilege " to sell pea-nuts in the enclosure of
the Bamum and Bailey circus, saved enough money to buy
a cheap " freak," which he exhibited in Boston, entered New
York when there were but two music halls — ^Koster and Bials,
corresponding in style to our Pavilion, or the defunct
Trocadero, and Tony Pastor's, more like the old-time
Canterbury — and in the twenty-five years he had to live,

78

THE LOST THEATRES OF LONDON

built up a system that eventually employed millions of
money in the exploitation of hundreds of music halls
throughout the United States.

But the Princess's : It seems certain that the famous
old house belongs to the lost theatres of London now. A
hundred years will soon have passed since Mr Hamlet,
silversmith, of Princes's Street, Piccadilly, rashly ventured
a panorama here. Fire procured him an issue out of his
afflictions, happy or otherwise. At any rate, having built a
new house, at a great cost, he promptly became bankrupt.
For ten years, opera was mostly the attraction. Then came
Charles Kean's over-loaded revivals of Shakespeare. He
introduced a bear to The Winter's Tale, and caused the
British Museum to be ransacked for authorities. But his
aims were noble ; and his companies (which included the
Terry children) were distinguished.

Thereafter, Stella Colas, the French actress, whose Juliet
an eminent critic described as "no better than she should
be," made her first appearance at the Princess's. Henry
Morley declared her to be " abominable . . . employing the
stage artifices and ghastly grimaces of a French ingenue.'^
Many of Boucicault's melodramas were produced here,
notably The Streets of London, Arrah na Pogue and After
Dark ; and Charles Reade's prison play, Ifs Never Too Late to
Mend, which led to a fierce altercation between Vining the
manager, on the stage, and Oxenford of The Times, in his
box. Vining reminded the critics, one of whom had verbally
denounced the prison scene, that they had come in for
nothing. Oxenford demanded a public apology, and, with
the support of the audience, got it.

An immense fortune, made out of Charles Reade's DrinJc,

79

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

enabled the Gooch family to rebuild the Princess's Theatre.
One of Phipps's characteristic well-shaped, or three-tier
houses, considered to be most beautiful at the time, was
erected, but was conspicuously unfortunate, till Wilson
Barrett, who had captivated London by a still unequalled
performance of Mercutio, supporting Modjeska, at the Court
Theatre came along. He began a new chapter in the history
of melodrama with The Lights of London, and continued it
with The Silver King. I suppose they still remain the two
best plays of their genre since The Ticket-of-Leave Man.
Barrett is credited with many failures at the Princess's. I
believe he had but two of serious import — Hamlet, and
Lytton's posthumous Brutus. And on neither did his fortune
disappear, in truth. His followers at the Princess's have no
interest.

Barrett cherished the ambition to return to the Princess's,
when his star again ascended. Fate took him instead to
another dilapidated temple of Thespis, the Olympic, which,
later, caught the fever of variety, and was kindly enveloped
in the Strand Improvement Scheme. Grass, meanwhile,
hides its ruins. Near here was Craven House, where Eliza-
beth of Bohemia lived — the guest, but not the wife, of its
owner — and there was an eventual tavern, " The Queen of
Bohemia," which Philip Astley merged in a circus, to be
replaced by a theatre whose early history was written in a
round dozen bankruptcies, rapidly succeeding. Vestris gave
the Olympic its first vogue. Then, it had for lessee one
Walter Watts, who cut a great figure with eighty thousand
pounds stolen from the Globe Insurance Company ; and
hanged himself in gaol, while awaiting his trial. Alfred
Wigan managed the Olympic for years. Tom Taylor's

80

THE LOST THEATRES OF LONDON

historic melodrama, The Ticket-of-Leave Man, ran here four
hundred and six nights in the sixties. Henry Neville prob-
ably lived to play the part as many thousand times. He suc-
ceeded to the management ; and produced a score melodramas
only less remarkable than The Ticket-of-Leave Man.

Traversing the Strand from west to east one misses the
Folly, formerly the Charing Cross, later Toole's Theatre, the
Gaiety, the Olympic, the Globe, the Opera Comique and the
Strand — if the pilgrim should persevere to Fleet Street he
would come upon the remnant of an old music hall, the
Doctor Johnson. Few theatres have done so little to justify
their existence as the Folly — once the scene of Mr William
Woodin's Entertainment. Lydia Thompson procured it a
vogue, with burlesque. But the ramshackle old place could
have had no more fitting end than the hospital !

Jerry-built and dangerous, those imhealthy twins
the Opera Comique and the Globe were short lived.
The wonder is that they endured so long. The Opera
Comique contrived, however, to impress Gilbert and Sullivan
on London. The Globe is associated with two remarkable
runs — of Les Cloches de Corneville and Charley^s Aunt, the
former brought forward from the Folly, the latter from
the Royalty. And both theatres recall a " scene " to be
considered later.

Burlesque is nowadays habitually associated with the

I Gaiety. Really, the Strand has the prior claim to its origin
• — ^though the most successful burlesque of all, Black-Ey^d
Susan, was done at the Royalty, in 1866, before the Gaiety
was thought of, with Charles Wyndham as a Deal Smuggler.
The Strand stood nearly a hundred years. But it has little
interest for us till the Swanborough family settled in to
F 8i

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

do Byron's early burlesques, with Marie Wilton for their
star. Madam Swanborough had a pleasant disposition,
and the way of Mrs Malaprop — ^if the quaint things she
said, and the quaint things Byron said she said, and the
encrustations of a swarm of smaller wits were collated they
would fill a book. But the Swanborough family was prob-
ably too large to live on one small theatre, and came to grief.
John Sleeper Clarke, the rich and rare American comedian,
took the Strand, but mostly let it. Here then, Florence St
John achieved some of her greatest triumphs in Opera Bouffe ;
a woman demonstrated the ability of her sex to write farce
with Our Flat, receiving, they say, fifty pounds for her share
of the spoil, and A Chinese Honeymoon ran upwards of a
year.

Two historic melodramas were produced at the Duke's
Theatre, Holborn, The Flying Scud and New Babylon. In
the latter play Caroline Hill, of the wonderful golden hair,
appeared. Then the Duke's considerately caught fire, and
made room for the First Avenue Hotel. The neighbouring
Holborn Amphitheatre has disappeared.

Dr Distin Maddick's romantic attachment for the old
Prince of Wales's Theatre, where the Bancrofts revolu-
tionised the stage and made a huge fortune by the produc-
tion of Tom Robertson's " tea-cup comedies," has saved
this from becoming a lost theatre. With a fortune nearing
a quarter of a million, 'tis said, made out of surgery, he built
the Scala Theatre — a disappointing realisation of his dreams,
one fears.

82

1

CHAPTER XII

ROUND LEICESTER SQUARE

Early Victorian Horrors — Prize-fighters at the Alhambra — Leotard
and Blondin — King Edward and the Empire — Winston Churchill
— Prudes on the Prowl — Murder of Amy Roselle

I SUPPOSE there is no square mile containing so much
of interest to the student of the history of popular
entertainment as that of which Leicester Square is
nearly the centre. Circus, theatre, music hall, panorama,
waxwork exhibition — ^they hem it in, on every side. Hither
came the disgraceful Judge and J my show from the Strand
— a. mock trial of a scandalous cause — ^the Poses Plastiques
(particular patrons welcome to the dressing-room) and other
delights of the Early Victorian noceur. Let the Alhambra
and the Empire, dominating respectively the east and the
north side, suffice for this chapter. There was a design to
complete the quadrangle with theatres ; but new buildings,
meanwhile erected, prevented this development. In one,
the Green Room Club — ^probably the most exclusively
theatrical club in the world, clinging convivially to the
tradition of one room — ^has found a home.

Not long ago the Alhambra might have conmiemorated its
jubilee ; for it had a music hall licence years earlier than
some slipshod historians seem to know of ; and indeed nms
the Canterbury very close for seniority. Projected as the
Panopticon, in more or less friendly rivalry with the

83

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

Polytechnic, it was incorporated by Royal Charter, and opened
with prayer. " While the eye is gratified with an exhibition
of every startling novelty which science and the fine arts
can produce, and the ear is enchanted with soul-stirring
music, the mind," said the prospectus, "shall have food of
the most invigorating character."

Alas ! the Panopticon soon found its way into bankruptcy,
Its scientific toys were scattered from an auction-room ; and
the enterprising E. T. Smith turned the splendid Moorish
structure into a music hall. He did not long endure — ^but
he distinguished his term by exhibiting the prize-fighters,
Sayers and Heenan, still scarred by their historic battle
at Famingham. Amid a scene of wild enthusiasm, they
were presented with tokens of the occasion. Smith had
meant to utilise the Royal Opera House, of which also
he was the lessee and manager, for this interlude ; but
allowed friends with a keener sense of propriety to dissuade
him.

A Mr Wilde ran the Alhambra, indiscriminately as a
music hall and as a circus. Under his management Leotard,
the famous aerial performer, made his first appearance in
London, to eventually receive a salary of one hundred and
eighty pounds a week. None is so apt to play the part of
Laudator temporis acti as the circus veteran. And he is
never so firm as in the assertion that Leotard's grace and
daring have not been equalled, even by " Little Bob " Hanlon,
whose ease and skill are but an experience of yesterday.
Leotard was trained to the trapeze in childhood at Toulouse
by his father. He followed his dangerous trade inmiune
from accident, and went home to die, quite young, of small-
pox. Incidentally, he established an interesting precedent,

84

The Panopticon: Predecessor of the Alhambra

ROUND LEICESTER SQUARE

in the way of artists' salaries. Giovanelli, the proprietor of
Highbury Bam, demurred to Leotard's demands, but jumped
at the artist's suggestion that he should receive one half-
penny per head of the attendance. The manager had cause
to repent his bargain, for the salary first quoted was much
less than the aggregation of the capitation fee. Roughly,
fifty thousand people yield a hundred pounds. The fact
that Leotard died in his bed leads me to remark that the
authenticated instances of fatal accidents to " sensational "
performers are singularly few ; and have mostly been due
to carelessness, to the slovenly fixing of apparatus, or to
incompetence. There is the case of gymnastic partners, one
of whom hung by his feet from a lofty trapeze, holding in his
teeth a gag attached to a swivel, which carried his partner
by the belt. The lower man, in a horizontal position, face
downwards, swung round and round, but became so in-
different to his circumstances that his eye wandered over
the hall. " Bill," he said to his bearer, " your girl's here."
As thoughtlessly. Bill said : " Where-? " and, as he opened
his mouth, lost hold of the gag, precipitating his unhappy
comrade many feet to the earth !

Think of Blondin, another of the Alhambra alumni —
though his more brilliant feats were at the Crystal Palace.
The old man died peacefully in his bed at seventy-six, having
followed his hazardous calling from his fourth year. But he
refused to regard it as hazardous. " A net is a very proper
precaution," he agreed with me one day, " — pour ler autres.^^
He declared that a net would make him nervous. Blondin,
no doubt, had a supernatural sense of balance. He also had
the forearm of a giant, which ienabled him to manipulate a
balance pole of immense weight and utility. On the ground

S5

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

he was imimposing, and ungraceful in his walk. Suffering
agony from rheumatism, he one day looked affectionately
at a rope stretched across his garden at Ealing — ^where he
kept rabbits, experimented in sweet-peas, and what not — ^and
assured me he would never be well till he could get "up
there," being then seventy odd. He performed within a few
months of his death.

Frederick Strange was Wilde's successor at the Alhambra,
in which he is said to have invested a fortune made as a
refreshment contractor at the Crystal Palace, which is quite
true ; but, like Morton, he was a waiter first. Two more of
the men destined to play a great part in the development of
the modem music hall were publicans' cellarmen ; and two
more were policemen.

Strange was disposed to make ballet a popular feature of
the Alhambra programme, and this speedily involved him
in a quarrel with the theatrical managers, who sought to get
his first spectacular production, UEnfant Prodigue, founded
on Auber's opera, condemned as a stage play. Strange won
the day, but failed to get a really useful judgment ; and,
after an interval of forty years, the still unsatisfactory state of
the law permitted similar prosecutions against the Alhambra
and the Empire in 1905. During a part of Strange's manage-
ment John Hollingshead, as stage manager, got his first
practical experience of theatrical life ; and may also have
got the idea of the Corinthian Club from the very convivial
gatherings in the Alhambra canteen. He found a humorous
relaxation in writing articles for Good Words as he sat in
his office of observation, adjacent to the stage.

Strange turned his enterprise into a limited liability com-
pany— ^the first of note in the history of popular entertainment.

86

Howes and Cushing's American Circus : at the Alhambra

ROUND LEICESTER SQUARE

The prosperity of the house was checked by the loss of its
music hall hcence in 1870. This was not restored till 1884.
Meanwhile, the directorate exploited a theatrical entertain-
ment— comic opera with incidental ballets, of which M. Jacobi,
a refugee at the time of the Franco-Prussian War, supplied
more than a hundred during his reign as chef d'orchestre.
In the autumn of 1870 the Alhambra was the scene of nightly
demonstrations by French and Germans, for which the
management generously provided a musical accompani-
ment of national airs ; and later there was counter-rioting
on accoxmt of two favourite actresses, Kate Santley and
Rose Bell.

Touching the site of Leicester House, the " Pouting place
of princes," the Empire mainly occupies that of Saville
House, where Peter the Great may have drunk his strange
mixture of brandy and pepper, and from the steps of which
George III. was proclaimed King. When Saville House —
say, rather, the ensuing Eldorado Music Hall of evil fame —
was destroyed by fire, two young bloods drove up with the
firemen. They became the Duke of Sutherland and King
Edward VII. In years to come, other young bloods de-
molished a partition erected by order of the County Council,
and marched down Piccadilly bearing fragments of the wreck,
headed by Mr Winston Churchill, not yet, of course. Right
Honourable.

After the Saville House fire a panorama was projected,
and the Empire of to-day follows its circular line. But the
panorama came to naught. There was an Alcazar scheme,
and a Pandora scheme. " Empire " was the inspiration of

kMr H. J. Hitchins, manager from the opening of the house,
in 1884, to the day of his death. He was the nominee of
87

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

Nichol, of the Cafe Royal, the original leaseholder and
dominant shareholder of the Empire. For years that grim
old man, sitting in his box, and rolling a semi-paternal eye
over the ballet, formed a familiar picture.

At first the Empire was devoted to opera. Chilperic
was the first production, with a cast including Herbert
Standing, Paulus, Walter Wardroper, Harry Paulton, Camille
D'Arville, Agnes Consuelo, Sallie Turner, Madge Shirley,
and Sismondi. Hayden Coffin joined the company as a
chorister.

But opera and extravaganza failed to attract ; ballet
became the staple fare, with a liberal supplement of music hall
"turns." The Empire grew world-famous, and its share-
holders divided profits at the rate of sixty per cent. — on a
small capital, it should always be remembered. It was
probably the first music hall to which Royalty, in the persons ]
of King Edward and Queen Alexandra, resorted in a casual f
and friendly way. It was the scene of a Lucullan entertain- ]
ment, given by the Sassoons to the Shah of Persia. It was v
the first hall to which a famous actress of the regular theatre, /
Amy Roselle, came, with recitations. It was the first j
hall toward which Sims Reeves unbent. It was the battle- :
ground of the Nonconformist party apropos its promenade,
inspiring Clement Scott to pen his diatribe. Prudes on the /
Prowl ,

Amy Roselle took her engagement very seriously, also a .
thirty-pound salary ; and received the interviewing reporter
with effusion. She professed to believe that she was doing
missionary work — '' elevating " the naughty halls. The
truth was that the directors of the Empire were in mortal /
terror of their licence at that time, and made frantic efforts r

ROUND LEICESTER SQUARE

to secure any pallid star, for citation to the authorities.
The habitual attendants at the Empire were bored stiff by
Madam Roselle's recitations.

Poor, poor Amy Roselle ! She was shot, fully acquiescing,
by her husband, Arthur Dacre, who immediately cut his
throat, in Sydney. Refusing to recognise the fact that their
charm and popularity had waned, they stubbornly continued
in importance, till starvation stared them in the face ;
and then staggered the world by their protest against its
declining appreciation.

Mrs Ormiston Chant headed the " purity " campaign
against the Empire, and naturally came in for a good deal
of abuse, and more cheap satire. She overstated her case,
and exaggerated her evidence, of course. But George
Edwardes, though naturally he would not admit her con-
:entions, knew that she was sincere, and immensely able.
1 heard him offer her a fine engagement, as a sequel to their
ight. She had a secret sympathiser in Augustus Harris,
v^ho had retired in anger from the board of the Empire ; and
vas again disappointed when he found he could not make
:he Palace its effective rival. Music hall management was
lot his metier.

He sought revenge in the melodrama, A Life of Pleasure,
vhich he produced about that time. One of the scenes was
enacted in the Empire promenade, the naughty lady of the
episode drenching the villain with champagne. Pettitt,
the author, was well aware that Harris meant to be vicious
toward the Empire. But the curious feature of the situation
was that the actress was ]\Irs Bernard Beere, who, as Fanny
Whitehead, presided in her girlhood over a glove stall on the
irst circle of the Alhambra, and had doubtless assisted

89

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

at many scenes such as she was now called upon to
enact.

It is a ghastly reflection that George Scott and Charles
Dundas Slater, acting managers respectively of the Alhambra
and the Empire, two pleasant and popular men, both blew
out their brains.

90

CHAPTER XIII

SINGERS WHO ARE SILENT

The first " Great *- Men of the Music Hall — Lions Comique — Music
Hall Morals and Manners — Saved by a Song

FEW and short are the records of the early music hall ;
and so the would-be historian seizes every fragment.
Not long before his death, well advanced in the
eighties, Joe Cave, manager, actor, author, and pioneer of
minstrelsy, whose chief pride it was to have been the first
English banjo player, carefully " made up " as W. G. Ross
did to sing Sam Hall, and warbled that weird ditty for the
instruction of a party of his friends. It was an interesting
experience. Still living is a member of one of Morton's
early companies at the Canterbury, William Lingard.
He was acting, at any rate a few months ago, with one of
the companies proceeding from the Shaftesbury Theatre.
Lingard used to do impersonations of celebrities, with songs,
a form of entertainment which again became popular a while
ago. He married a pretty girl in the company, Alice Dunning,
and they went to America, to return as Miss Lingard, a
charming emotional actress in the eighties, and as Horace
Lingard, an important impresario of comic opera. He must
be the last link between the old music hall and the new.

Mackney, the negro-impersonator, sedulously cultivated
a public alternative to that of the music hall. He organised
concert parties, and was often included in St James's Hall

91

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

programmes — ^musical, not minstrel. He saved a good
deal of money, though he lost some of it in unfortimate
speculation. Still he was able to " husband out life's taper "
in great happiness at Enfield, where he cultivated show
roses. It seemed incredible that the weather-beaten old
gardener, with a shock of white hair, expatiating on Marechal
Niels and Gloires di Dijon could be the original exponent of :

" I wish I was with Nancy

In a second floor, for ever more
I'd Hve and die with Nancy

In the Strand, in the Strand, in the Strand ! "

— ^and of :

" Oh, lor ! gals, I wish I'd lots of money.
Charlestown is a mighty place,
The folks they are so funny
And they all are bound to go the whole hog or none."

Mackney may be forgiven a spice of malice in the chuckle
with which he read of Sims Reeves's decision to take to the
music hall stage, in his decline ; for the great tenor had once
peremptorily declined to appear on the same programme with
him.

Whether the "Great" Alfred Vance or the "Great"
Arthur Lloyd first appeared upon the horizon of London I
do not know — Vance, probably. He was a lawyer's clerk,
in Lincoln's Inn Fields, then a provincial actor, Alfred Peck
Stevens being, actually, his name. In a long-ago pantomine
at the St James's Theatre he played clown. All this experi-
ence stood him in good stead when he took to the variety
stage. The " vocal comedians " of that time adopted crude
expedients of make-up and costume. Vance — ^my authority

92

SINGERS WHO ARE SILENT

is the late Hugh Jay Didcott — ^was always cap a pied. He
preceded, and succeeded, Leyboume, of whom, for a long
time, he was the rival. Leyboume struck a note with
Champagne Charley. Vance responded with Clicquot,
Clicquot, that's the Wine for me. And so they ran through
the card, with ; Moet and Chandon's the Wine for me ; Cool
Burgundy Ben ; Sparkling Moselle.

Vance was first with the stage portrait of the " swell of
the period " — fair hair, eye-glass, " faultless evening dress "
— ^which has imitators to this day. But he had versatility.
He was the first coster singer, with his Chickaleary Bloke.
He could sing a moral, " motto " song with effect. Act on the
Square, Boys ; act on the Square. Of course his name is
inseparable from Slap Bang. He declined in popularity, and
his death occurred at a hall he would hardly have considered
in his great day, the Sun, Knightsbridge. In a barrister's
wig and gown he sang a topical song, with the refrain, uttered
as an appeal to the gallery, " Are you guilty ? " He fell un-
conscious on the stage. A troupe of singers and dancers
tripped lightly over his body, and carried on the show. A
scene, quickly lowered, divided them from a dead man.

Arthur Lloyd lived to earn the description, " last of the
lion comiques." He was a Scotsman — rather a dull heavy
man in social intercourse. His father was for years the
favourite comedian of Edinburgh — an actor after the old
Compton style, with a quince-like flavour of humour. The
fact that this proud position never brought him in more than
five pounds a week induced his son to take to the music halls,
where I suppose the younger man soon ranked as a hundred-
a-week man. He had a knack of song-writing, and published
not fewer than two hundred songs, all of a considerable

93

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

popularity, Arthur Lloyd had a passion for managing
theatres, which generally failed, and a tremendous sense of
his responsibility to a vast number of relations. The result
was a life never free from money troubles in spite of his
earnings.

Of Leyboume I have spoken elsewhere. Another of this
group was " Jolly John " Nash, a midland counties iron-
master whose jovial songs had been in great demand at
Masonic gatherings in the day of his prosperity, and who
bravely entered professional life when ruin overtook him.
Nash was one of the first music hall singers commanded to
appear before Royalty. But of that anon.

In succession to Arthur Lloyd and George Leyboume at
the London Pavilion came G. H. Macdermott, the immortal
singer of We DonH Want to Fight Macdermott was a person
of humble origin, Farrell by name — a bricklayer's labourer at
the outset. He served in the Navy, and left an A.B. Success
as an amateur actor on board ship induced him to try the
regular stage, and for years as Gilbert Hastings he was a
popular favourite at the Grecian Theatre. It was his pride
to have there forestalled Irving as Becket, in a play — I believe
of his own writing, for he developed the literary knack —
called Fair Rosamund. Macdermott's migration to the
variety stage, where for years he earned an immense income,
was brought about by accident. Henry Pettitt, a young
schoolmaster serving his noviciate as a dramatist at the
Grecian Theatre, gave Macdermott a song with the refrain,
" If ever there was a damned scamp," with which the actor
procured an engagement at the London Pavilion, meant in
the first instance to fill up a holiday. But the holiday
continued indefinitely. The Scamp became the talk of the

94

a <

« 2'.

t-5 <

< X

o <

55

SINGERS WHO ARE SILENT

town, and incidentally drew from the headmaster of the North
London Collegiate School a hint to his junior master that
playwriting was clearly his vocation — ^not pedagogy. Pettitt
took the hint, wrote a hundred melodramas, but died in the
prime of manhood, leaving fifty thousand poimds.

Macdermott had a commanding, as the years advanced
rather brutal, presence. He had the rare gift of articulation,
singing so clearly and sonorously that never a word escaped
the most distantly located member of the audience. He had
free views as to the quality of song that might be sung in a
music hall. The directors of the London Pavilion — not then
by any means particular persons — ^had other views, and
effectually excluded the once idolised singer from the West
End variety stage.

The speech in which their chairman summed up, at the
judicial meeting, laid down in clear language the point in
suggestiveness which he thought a vocal comedian might
safely and properly reach, enumerated the matters on which
he thought the freest humour should not play in public, and
gave precise meanings to Macdermott's double meanings.
As a vade mecum of music hall art and morality this de-
liverance would have been invaluable, and in lists of " rare
and curious books" it would have been thrice starred. But,
naturally, it did not achieve verbal record.

Macdermott bought a series of halls at the East End,
and prospered to his death. His second wife. Miss Annie
Millbum, was, it is interesting to recall, a mimic of almost
uncanny skill, before Miss Cecilia Loftus was thought of.
To the end of his days Macdermott cherished a grievance.
He felt that he had done the state an immense service by the
exploitation of We Don't Want to Fight. Perhaps he had.

95

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

But he complained that it was never " recognised." What
form he expected the recognition to take I know not. He
beHeved that Disraeli and Montagu Corri once visited the
London Pavilion and heard his song from a box. But he
had not clear proof even of this. Sam Collins, ne Vagg,
was a singer of Irish songs, of a lost type. He wore a
caubeen, green dress-coat, drab breeches, worsted stockings
and brogues, carried a shillelagh and a bundle and warbled
The Rocky Road to Dublin. He began life as a chimney-
sweep, and ended it as owner of the Islington Music Hall,
which still bears his name.

Old-timers speak kindly of the charm of Georgina Smithson,
Louie Sherrington and Annie Adams, serio-comic singers.
But I have no more precise information. Nelly Power had
rare fascination, and West End managers eagerly tempted
her to burlesque. She had a curious experience of fortune.
It seemed that she had passed her zenith, and was steadily
making downward. Then Mr E. V. Page, a city accountant
with a wonderful facility in comic song writing, provided her
with :

" He wore a penny flower in his coat,

La-di-da !
A penny paper collar round his throat,

La-di-da !
In his hand a penny stick,
In his teeth a penny pick,
And a penny in his pocket,

La-di-da I "

The St Martin's Summer of Nelly Power's prosperity due
to this song was probably the best time of her life.

96

CHAPTER XIV

HALF-A-CENTURY OF SONG

The Ditties of Demos — Slap Bang, here we are again — The Tich-
borne Claimant — " Motto " Songs

WHEN one is writing of songs it is proper to recall
" that very old man " known to Fletcher of
Saltoun — slipshod, citation says it was Fletcher
himself — ^who cared not to make the laws of a people so long
as he might be its bard. Time has given us more exact
means of comparing the cash worth of each occupation.
And Fletcher's friend, though his spirit was that of pure
patriotism, might prove to have chosen the more profitable
emplojmnent, for a song that really grips the popular imagina-
tion has the making of a fortune.

Not for me is it to discuss the ditties of Demos from a
critical standpoint. This I will maintain — ^the composition
of the music hall song is a very definite form of art, and when,
on occasion, a person of literary distinction has made an in-
cursion to the field with a song he has conceived to be of an
" elevating " tendency, he has mostly failed. To quote one
of his own favourites, the patron of the music hall " wants
what he wants."

Song publication on modern lines began seriously with

that of Not for Joe. Its sale of eighty thousand copies

established, and long held, a record. Probablj-- most of the

profits went into the pockets of the publisher. It was many

G 97

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

years ere the lyrist and composer appreciated the potentiahties
of a royalty. Song popularity is measured in millions now.
Arthur Lloyd, the composer and expositor of Not for Joe,
travelled townwards from his suburban home on an omnibus
driven by the original Joe, a London character whose habitual
negation was "No, thankee — ^not for Joe." So simple is
the history of songs that have moved the world 1

" Not for Joe " was for years the pet phrase of the Londoner,

ho has often been indebted in that way to the music hall.

Where did you get that hat," " Let 'em all come ! " " Get
your 'air cut," "Ask a pleeceman," and "There's 'air"
will occur to the veteran Cockney. " There he goes with his
eye out," the special satire coined for the early volunteers,
never claimed relationship with a lyric.

Arthur Lloyd was already famous when he wrote Not for
Joe. His diploma ditty was The German Band :

" I loved her, and she might have been
The happiest in the land.
But she fancied a foreigner who played a flageolet
In the middle of a German band."

Lloyd sang a Japanese nonsense song with which the topers
of the time were wont to test their sobriety :

" PoUywollyamo, nogo, soki,
Polly wo-a-lumpa shoes two tees,
Slopey in the eye ; flat-nosed beauty,
PoUywoUywoUy ! Jolly Japanese."

Vance is best remembered by :

" Slap bang, here we are again, here we are again ;
Slap bang, here we are again — and

We always are so jolly, so jolly, |

Yes, we always are so jolly, -

As jolly as can be."

98

Arthur Orton : The " Tichborne Claimant'

I

HALF-A-CENTURY OF SONG

A verse of his coster song is interesting, if only as an example
of the strange mutation of London slang. It is incompre-
hensible, now, to any other than an '' earnest student " of
argot :

" I'm a chickaleary bloke, vith my von, two, three.
Vitechapel vas the village I vos born in.

For to get me on the hop,

Or on my tibby drop.
You've got to get up early in the mornin'."

Casual writers overiook the fact that there was a changing
chorus to Pettitt's Scamp song.

** If ever there was a damned scamp,
I flatter myself I am he.
From William the Norman to Brigham the Mormon,
They can't hold a candle to me '-'

is obvious. But modem readers may be baffled by the
reference of

" From Roger to Odger — the artful old dodger —
They can't hold a candle to me.'-

Roger is Arthur Orton, otherwise Sir Roger Tichbome, the
" Claimant," who himself lived to become a music hall artist,
lecturing on his wrongs, when he had completed his sentence
of fourteen years — ^as to seven years for fraud and as to
seven years for perjury. Odger is George Odger, would-be
working man Member of Parliament. One night Odger's
son hissed the singer, and promoted a disturbance which
brought him up at Bow Street ; but the magistrate held that
the defendant was justified and dismissed him. This after
his counsel had said : " It is an insult to patrons of the theatre

99

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

to compare them with the patrons of the music hall. If the
latter were closed a great service would be done to the State,
for they are the bane of modem London — corrupting and
debasing youth and creating a distaste for all intellectual
pastime."

Macdermott's later song :

" We don't want to fight, but by Jingo if we do.
We've got the ships, we've got the men.
We've got the money too.
We've fought the Bear before, and
While Britons still are true
The Russians shall not have Constantinople.-'-

No song, I will not even except Tipperary, had an experience
so remarkable. We DonH Want to Fight was translated
into every language employing the printing press. It was
mentioned in Parliament. It was quoted in a Times leader.
It provided Punch with cartoon after cartoon. Learned
men engaged in controversy as to the origin and meaning
of the word, " Jingo," which, anyway, acquired and still has
an exact significance as describing politicians of a certain
temperament and method.

We DonH Want to Fight was written and composed by G. W.
Hunt, a little man with a flamboyant moustache, who had
been manager of the Cambridge Music Hall. Hunt more
often than otherwise composed the music of his songs too.
He would borrow a hint from a popular waltz, or even from
a Lutheran hymn — ^just as, in later years, a prolific com-
poser of music hall songs betrays to the expert his intimate
knowledge of Jewish melody. Hunt had a nose for the topical,
as he proved in We DonH Want to Fight, which he dashed off
after a perusal of his morning paper, disturbing Macdermott i

100

f

J

HALF-A-CENTURY OF SONG

in his second sleep, or maybe his first, for he was a convivial
creature, in order to strum the tune.

Hunt was especially the lyrist for George Leyboume, for
whom he wrote fifty songs — but not Champagne Charley.
That was the work of one Alfred Lee, who, when he came to
town with the manuscript, had to search the remote comers
of his pocket to produce the toll then demanded of every
passenger across Waterloo Bridge, and felt his heart sink
to his boots while Sheard the publisher very slowly
made up his mind to advance twenty pounds on the deal.
Elderly folk will catch, again, the topical references of
such songs as Walking in the Zoo, The Flying Trapeze,
Zazel! Zazel! Up in a Balloon, Riding on a Donkey — all
Hunt's contributions to the Leyboume repertory. His
Captain Cuff, designed as a companion study to Champagne
Charley, failed to secure an equal popularity, but had a
considerable vogue :

" Some coons go in for whiskers, some
For most unpleasant dogs,
Some fellows have a weakness for
The most outrageous togs.
I'm very strong on linen — yes,
And wouldn't give a dollar
For life without a splendid show
Of snow-white cuff and collar. ' '

(Spoken) ** Which has earned for me the title of :

" Captain Cuff, Captain Cuff, you can tell me by my collar.
Captain Cuff, Captain Cuff, though I'm not worth half a dollar,
I'm awfully stiff in style, as my cigarette I puff,
They cry, ' Hi ! clear the way, here comes Captain Cuff.' -'

Another singer of the Cockney-Horatian school was Harry
Rickards — a. mechanic again, from Woolwich, who was

lOl

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

famous for Captain Jinks of the Horse Marines ; still more

for:

" Cerulea was beautiful,
Cerulea was fair,
She lived with her gran 'ma
In Gooseberry Square.
She was once my unkydoodleum,
But now, alas, she
Plays kissy-kissy with an officer
In the artiller-ee."

Rickards got into apparently inextricable difficulties,
and went to Australia in a hurry. There the music hall
was unknown. Beginning in a small way, he added palace
to palace, and, lately died, on the way to a millionaire.

Gk)dfrey was good at the " Hi-tiddly-hi-ti-ti " business,
but there was the " heavy man " of the old school in him still,
and he was at his best with such songs as On the Bridge at
Midnight :

" Next a form approaches at a halting pace,
Grief had failed to shatter the beauty of her face.
Promises and falsehoods fondly she believed ;
Now her dream is ended— forsaken and deceived,
Silently to Heaven she offers up a prayer,
Gazes at the river, then shudders in despair.
Clutching some love token in her withered hands,
Like an apparition on the brink she stands.
* Why did he forsake me,

Him I loved so well ? '

— Hark, the bell is tolling ;

Bidding earth farewell.

Frantically her hands, high

In the air she throws ;
A sigh, a leap, a scream, 'tis done ;

As o'er the bridge she goes.'-

What a bright page in music hall history is that filled by

102

HALF-A-CENTURY OF SONG

Harry Clifton. His cheery " motto " songs, faulty in form
but faultless in sentiment, were mostly adapted to his friend
Charles Coote's waltzes. Paddle your Own Canoe, for instance,
utilised the melody of Queen of the Harvest. To the Innocence
Waltz, Harry Clifton sang :

" Then do your best for one another,
Making life a pleasant dream,
Help a worn and weary brother
Pulling hard against the stream."

Another of the genial philosopher's songs was Wait for the
Turn of the Tide :

" Then try to be happy and gay, my boys,
Remember the world is wide,
And Rome wasn't built in a day, my boys,
So wait for the turn of the tide/'

Herbert Campbell's fat, confidential way lent itself to a
topical song with the refrain :

" They're all very fine and large.

They're fat, they're sound and prime.
If you fancy you can beat 'em.

It will take you all your time.
They're the widest in creation,

And I make no extra charge.
Now who'll have a chance for a dozen or two.

They're all weiy fine and large.''

103

CHAPTER XV

BALLETS AND BALLET DANCERS

The Cancan at the Alhambra — Police Interference — Some Old-time
Favourites — Genee's Arrival — Kate Vaughan and the Gaiety
School — Booming Maud Allan

THERE is no brighter gem in the crown of the
music hall than the ballet, which it rescued from
the neglect of the opera house, and sedulously
nurtured. Ballet during the earlier half of the nineteenth
century was an adjunct of the opera, often, indeed, the more
important constituent of the programme. But Le Corsair,
in which Rosati danced during the season of 1858, was the
last of the great opera ballets, and dancing bade fair to become
a lost art till the expanding variety theatre offered it an
asylum. At the Canterbury Music Hall, at the Metropolitan
and at the South London large corys de ballet were maintained.
When Strange became manager of the Alhambra an
Oriental ballet, founded on Auber's opera, Azael, and entitled
VEnfant Prodigue, was his first production of importance.
A little Hungarian ballet had among its exponents the
brothers Imre and Bolossy Kiraefy, destined to become
famous metteurs en scene and company promoters, and their
sister Anita. The legitimate theatres developed a furious
jealousy of the Alhambra and invoked the law. But the
Alhambra wrought its own undoing. In the late summer
of 1870 a ballet called Les Nations was produced. The

104

BALLETS AND BALLET DANCERS

theatre had just previously lost its popular premiere danseuse
of several seasons, Pitteri, a beautiful Venetian, who died
in poverty, and by way of giving 6clat to the new ballet,
Mademoiselle Colonna was engaged to head a Parisian
quadrille, in fact the cancan, a performance of which the
Prince and Princess of Wales had previously contemplated
at the Lyceum without complaint or hurt. Colonna and her
friends footed it merrily for five weeks at the Alhambra.
It was an unfortunate coincidence that at the end of that
time the Alhambra had to apply for a renewal of its licence,
which, without a word of warning, and after very little
discussion, was withheld !

A series of promenade concerts was instantly inaugurated.
The Franco-German War was then at its fiercest encounters,
and there were nightly scenes at the Alhambra far more
dangerous to the public morale, one thinks, than the cancan
could have been. M. Riviere's band played The Watch on
the Rhine, and the Germans roared approval ; it proceeded
to the Marseillaise, and the French counter-demonstrated.
Meanwhile Colonna and her party proceeded to the Globe
Theatre, and in The White Cat burlesque danced their
" Parisian quadrille " to admiration and without interrup-
tion. The directors of the Alhambra proceeded to the
Lord Chamberlain, who complacently accorded them his
licence. They swept away the tables which, covering the
vast floor space, had acconmiodated convivial groups, and
opened the Alhambra as a theatre. For fourteen years
thereafter this was the home of comic opera, with interpolated
or auxiliary ballet. But dividends at the rate of twenty-five
per cent, ceased. Such works as Le Roi Carotte, The Black
Crook, La Belle Helene, Don Juan — an extravaganza by H. J.

105

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

Byron, not to be confounded with other versions, memorable
for nightly demonstrations, which became a public scandal,
by the friends respectively of Kate Santley and Rose Bell —
La Jolie Parfumeuse, Whittington, Spectresheim, Die Fleder-
maus, Orphee aux Enfers, Le Fille de Madame Angot, The
Grand Duchess, Fatinitza, La Perichole, La Poule aux CEufs
d^Or, The Princess of Trebizonde, Rothomago, La Petite
Mademoiselle, La Fille du Tambour Major, The Bronze
Horse, Babil and Bijou, The Merry War and The Beggar
Student', interpreted by such artists as Kate Santley,
Emily Soldene, Julia Matthews, Comeille D'Anka, Selina
Dolaro and Constance Loseby.

Mostly the ballets were the compositions of M. Georges
Jacobi, a German who became a naturalised Frenchman,
crossed the Channel at the time of the Franco-German War
and was a true Londoner to the day of his death, thirty years
later. Jacobi's room at the Alhambra had the character-
istics of a select delightful club. He wrote nearly a hundred
ballets for the Alhambra — ^until, indeed, he became a con-
vention and, rather than accommodate himself to a new
order of things, resigned. But he was never happy
elsewhere.

Ballets that come back to the memory of the old-time
frequenter of the Alhambra are The Enchanted Forest,
Fretillon ; or a Night in China, Cupid in Arcadia, The Flowej-
Queen, The Fairies' Home, Yolande, The Golden Wreath, The
Bells, The Carnival of Venice, Carmen, Margherita and
Hawaya. When, in 1884, the music hall licence was restored
to the penitent, and meanwhile not too prosperous, theatre,
two ballets. The Swans and Melusine, were done, and, there-
after, two each year. Nina, The Bivouac, Dresdina, The

io6

BALLETS AND BALLET DANCERS

Seasons, Nadia, Algeria, Enchantment, Antiope, Ideala, Irena,
Army and Navy, Astrea, Asmodeus, Salandra, The Sleeping
Beauty, Orietta, Temptation, On the Ice, Don Juan, Aladdin,
Chicago, Fidelio, Don Quixote, The Revolt of the Daughters,
Sita, Ali Baba, Titania, Lochinvar, Bluebeard, Donnybrook,
Tzigane, Beauty and the Beast, Victoria and Merry England,
Jack Ashore, The Red Sleeves, A Day Off, Soldiers of the Queen,
The Handy Man, The Gay City, Gretna Green, Britannia's
Realm, The DeviVs Forge, Carmen, All the Year Round,
Entente Cordiale, My Lady Nicotine, Parisiana, V Amour,
The Queen of Spades, Les Cloches de Corneville, Sal-oh-my,
The Two Flags, Paquita, On the Square, Pysche, On the Heath,
Our Flag, Femina, On the Sands, The Dance Dream, 1830, and
The Guide to Paris employed such dancers as Pertoldi, who
married Tito Mattei the composer, Palladino, still living,
the wife of a well-known member of the Eccentric Club, and
Vincenti (a wonderful pirouettist). For many years the
maitre du ballet, M. Coppi, also supervised a useful school.

In 1887 the Alhambra, for the first time during many years,
had a serious rival. Then, the Empire definitely became a
variety theatre, and in its first prograromes as such included
two ballets, initiating a policy, long followed, of a ballet
on academic lines, Dilara, and one of a topical character.
Sports of England. There succeeded : Rose D^ Amour, Diana,
Robert Macaire, The Bal Masque, Cleopatra, The Paris
Exhibition, The Dream of Wealth, Cecile, Dolly, Orfeo, By
the Sea, Nisita, Versailles, Round the Town, Katrina, The
Girl I Left Behind Me, La Frolique, On Brighton Pier, Faust,
La Danse, Monte Christo, Under One Flag, The Press, Our
River, Alaska, Ordered to the Front, Sea-side, Les Papillons,
Old China, Our Crown, The Milliner Duchess, Vineland,

107

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

High Jinks, The Dancing Doll, The Bugle Call, Cinderella,
Coppelia, The Debutante, Sir Roger de Coverley, and The
Belle of the Ball.

Katti Lanner, nominally the maitresse de ballet, was actually
the autocrat of the Empire stage for many years — ^though
M. Wilhelm, a very English gentleman, in spite of the name
he assumed, contrived to vindicate his position as the genius
of design. Lanner was a Viennese, of considerable celebrity
as a dancer on the Continent when Mapleson brought her to
London. For fifteen years she danced, but more and more
devoted herself to " production. " She founded a school, and
in fact its pupils formed the nucleus of the Empire ballet.
She was an excellent teacher, liked by her pupils — but the
indenture of apprenticeship which bound them to her, if it
erred on either side in generosity, certainly did not select the
apprentice for its aberration. Dancers of the rank and file
are shamefully ill paid.

Lanner's appearance before the curtain was the consum-
mation of a " first night " at the Empire. Her huge body
encased in black silk, gold chains about her neck, her head
surmounted by a fair wig, the nightly arrival whereof from a
neighbouring hairdresser was one of the anxiously awaited
moments in the life of the Empire, Lanner would smile and
bow and kiss her hand, then impulsively snatch and kiss
any convenient ballet-baby. And then we comfortably
said " All's well " and went home.

Genee arrived at the Empire, also by way of Vienna, in
1897. In spite of her French name, she is a Dane — ^Miss
Petersen, from Copenhagen. This consummate little artist
stayed contentedly at the Empire for fifteen years. London
got to love her very dearly, and yet I do not believe it had

io8

BALLETS AND BALLET DANCERS

any idea what a treasure it possessed till American enterprise
tempted her with an increase of salary — say, ten times the
Empire's extreme figure.

Almost as essential to academic ballet as the premiere
danseuse is the mime-lover. For years, Malvina Cavalazzi
was the handsome hero of the Empire ballets. She had been
a dancer and travelled the world over. I think her last
appearance in this capacity was in Excelsior at His Majesty's.

Meanwhile the Gaiety had done its share in the cult of
dancing. Kate Vaughan, the English dancer most appellant
to the imagination, was a product of the music hall. Care-
fully trained in the Italian style at Islington, she danced at
Cremome and round the variety theatres ere she caught the
eye of John Hollingshead ; and as a music hall artist made
her first appearance at the Gaiety on Ash Wednesday, 1872,
when he put up a variety entertainment by way of a protest
against the old law which forbade a theatrical performance
on that day. When Miss Vaughan left the Gaiety to become
a serious actress, the critics were hardly just to ber, for she
was a notably fine Lady Teazle, and Peggy in The Country
Girl. She returned to her old love for the extra decoration of
Excelsior at His Majesty's. I believe Charles Hawtrey con-
trived to lose a considerable part of the fortune he made out
of ThePrivate Secretary on the reproduction here of the famous
Italian ballet. Miss Vaughan introduced a solo, for which she
received seventy pounds a week ; and the newspapers made
wonderful computations as to the pounds per minute she
received for her brief occupation of the stage. Ten times
seventy pounds falls short of Pavlova's fee, on occasion.

Kate Vaughan's colleague at the Gaiety, Connie Gilchrist,
was a skipping-rope dancer from the music halls, as her

109

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

predecessor, Rose Fox (the mother of Maude Darrell), was ;
and her successor, Sylvia Grey. Letty Lind, Topsy Sinden,
Katie Seymour and Alice Lethbridge complete the Gaiety
group.

In the early nineties Loie Fuller created a mild sensation,
and raised a crop of imitators, by a so-called serpentine dance
which she claimed to have invented, but which the erudite
Mr Sala traced to Emma Hart, Lady Hamilton.

It is safe to say that had Maud Allan's performance been
casually introduced to the Palace programme it would have
had a short shrift. Instead, it was managed with exquisite
showmanship by Alfred Butt, with the assistance of the
late Augustus Moore. For years Moore had professed the
belief that an insidious and insistent journalist could make
the London public form any opinion he chose as to the merit
of a performance. He put his theories into careful practice
with Maud Allan. The result was that for a year all London,
high and low, swarmed to the Palace to admire and applaud
an artist of whom it had never heard before and whose
antecedents proved, upon investigation, to be quite curious.

Mr Butt's first step was to issue invitations to a private
performance. So aristocratic an audience has never filled
a music hall, save at the command of royalty, as that which
filled the Palace that afternoon in 1908. What persons of
such high rank had applauded, should any common creature
dare criticise ?

Moore's part was the preparation of a pamphlet, insidiously
circulated — ^and forming the basis of nine-tenths of the
newspaper notices next day. Some critics ingenuously
adopted its style and sentiment as their own. Some
modestly placed inverted commas to choice extracts. Some

no

BALLETS AND BALLET DANCERS

interpolated a word or two of deprecation. But in one form
or another Moore's work insinuated itself to every breakfast-
table in London next day. The newspaper men had assimi-
lated his ready-made raptures as readily as the dupe accepts
the card chosen by the conjurer. And the Maud Allan boom
began, and continued, as no boom did before in the history
of the variety stage.

Miss Maud Allan, we were told, "is in artistic sympathy
with those Latin races whose fair bodies and acute passions
have brought about the greatest crimes passionelles which
the world has ever seen. She is perfectly made, with slender
wrists and ankles that speak the artist temperament. Each
of her rose-tipped fingers is instinct with intention. Her
skin is satin smooth, crossed only by the pale tracery of
delicate veins that lace the ivory of her round bosom and
slowly waving arms." In the Vision of Salome we are
shown " Herodias's daughter . . . the dazzling radiance of
her warm body only enhanced by the sacred fires shimmering
on the ropes of pearls and plaques of jewels that enviously
hide the exquisite delights of her form. . . . Her naked feet,
slender and arched, beat a sensual measure. The pink
pearls slip amorously about her throat and bosom as she
moves, while the long strands of jewels float languorously
apart from the sheen of her smooth hips. The desire that
flames from her eyes and bursts in hot gusts from her scarlet
mouth infect the very air with the madness of passion.
Swaying like a white witch, with yearning arms and hands
that plead, Maud Allan is such a delicious embodiment of
lust that she might win forgiveness for the sins of such
wonderful flesh. As Herod catches fire, so Salome dances
even as a Bacchante, twisting her body like a silver snake

III

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

eager for its prey panting with hot passion, the fire of her
eyes scorching Hke a Hving furnace."

Enough has been written, with more or less sincerity, on the
aesthetic aspect of Maud Allan's work. Its moral aspect is
not my business. She earned vast sums of money for herself
and for her entrepreneurs. And she had a hundred imitators,
who grew in daring as they retreated from grace. Here and
there authority bestirred itself. But at last the public turned
from classical dancing as it had turned from living statuary,
in a very nausea of nakedness. Let me give Maud Allan a
postscript of gratitude. She aroused a new interest in
dancing — eventually, in disgraceful dancing, but the interest
expanded. Men read about dancing, wrote about dancing,
talked about dancing as they had not done for years. She
paved the way to Petrograd and made Pavlova possible.

112

CHAPTER XVI

AMERICAN COUSINS

Early American Visitors to London — Augustin Daly and Charles
Frohman — The American Chorus Girl — Edna May's Girlhood —
Negro Minstrelsy — Mr Gladstone as a Comic Singer

DURING the past twenty years commerce between
the EngHsh and American stages has grown to
vast dimensions. It may be said to have begun in
earnest with Augustin Daly's visits, chiefly at first to the
Strand Theatre, in the eighties, with farces adapted in a
characteristic way from the French and German. Daly's
more candid critics declared the literary equipment, before
they attacked Shakespeare and Wycherley, of Ada Rehan,
John Drew, James Lewis and Mrs Gilbert to be quite un-
worthy of them. But the Daly farces were innocence by
comparison with what was called " Criterion comedy."
That, again, was destined to be put in a cool shade by the
later method of American adaptation, which dealt with the
improprieties of " Hotel Libre-Exchange," for instance, by
the simple process of leaving them alone, and so set a new
and nasty fashion.

In the course of time Daly overreached himself. No
doubt he made exceptions, but his personal attitude was im-
pleasant toward individuals and aggressive toward the public.
To the actors and actresses in his employment he was an
autocrat, as no manager nowadays is able to be autocratic.
H 113

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

His contracts laid down rules for conduct in the street, for
attire and hairdressing, as to the manner in which he should
be approached — though I do not believe he went so far as
one English actor of title, who promulgated a request that
members of his company should not recognise him in the
street ! Daly forbade, imder penalty, any traffic with news-
paper representatives in the way of an " interview," or
any reclame by the individual. He treated his artists as
puppets in his scheme of mise en scene ; but he was indubitably
a brilliant stage manager, and the English stage owed much
to him.

George Edwardes projected the theatre off Leicester Square,
which was built according to Daly's ideas, and handed over
to him on a long lease. He gave it his name — offence number
one to English susceptibilities ; and he ran up the stars and
stripes — offence number two. Playgoers who had tendered
him profuse hospitality as a visitor resented his assumption,
as a resident, of the " boss " attitude, which Charles Frohman,
his successor in the course of time, so sedulously avoided.
Daly's company only occupied Daly's Theatre at intervals,
and achieved no particular success there. Then, Mr
Edwardes was in the curious position of taking a sub-lease
of his own house and paying a profit rental to his own
tenant. Recently he resumed full possession, the Daly
lease having expired. Daly seldom came into personal
collision with the public, but freely circulated his portrait,
so the chopped moustache, shoe-string tie and seldom
removed "billy-cock," of the type nowadays affected by
Mr Winston Churchill, were familiar enough.

In succession to Daly came Charles Frohman, whose career
ended so tragically on the Lusitania. Frohman first visited

114

AMERICAN COUSINS

London filling a modest position on the managerial staff of
Haverley's Minstrels. In the course of time he leased half-
a-dozen London theatres, he " cornered " all the important
dramatists and he shipped half our young actors and actresses
across the Atlantic, occasionally restoring them to the
Strand. His commitments amounted to millions of money,
but he never made a contract ; and he always kept his word.
He lived in hotels, smoked many cigars, had no interest or
amusement outside the theatre, and few could say they knew
him. That he was wholly, or mainly, inspired by a love of
art, it is impossible to say. Think of A Night Out ! But
undoubtedly he acquired, and exploited, if he did not inspire,
some of the best work of the modem stage. And the greater
the transaction, the greater the respect of those concerned
for the fat, important-seeming, retiring little man. He was
generous in his promises, and honest in their fulfilment.

Edwin Forest, to be historic, was the first American visitor
to our stage of conspicuous importance. He quarrelled
with Macready about fancied wrongs ; and the sequel was
a tragical riot when Macready visited New York. But what
a favourite here was Joseph Jefferson, in the sixties. He

I stayed three years, and went home with a greatly augmented
fortune. Of actresses, Charlotte Cushman made a profound
sensation here. But perhaps one had better not dwell on
this instance, for London was desperately unkind to Charlotte
before it took her to its heart. She nearly starved ere she
was able to fulfil her passionate oath that she would conquer
in the end. Mary Anderson, the idol of several seasons,
thought well enough of England to marry, and to settle
here — ^within a mile or two of Shakespeare's birthplace.
Irving's first manager at the Lyceum was an American,

"5

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

Colonel Bateman ; his first leading lady the American,
Isabel Bateman, now a nun. And that memory, maybe,
gave an extra warmth of cordiality to his welcome when
Edwin Booth joined him at the Lycemn for a memorable
series of performances of Othello. The cordiality was lack-
ing when Henry Dixey, " Adonis " Dixey, arrived. Dixey
specialised on a caricature of Irving — ^always resentful of
such exercises in humour, and particularly resentful of
this, which was insolent and cruel. It was generally under-
stood that the licensing authorities were moved to restrain
Dixey, and there was a good deal of ill feeling between the
actors.

Few comedians were more popular here than John Sleeper
Clarke, who owned the old Strand theatre. Richard
I^Iansfield was English born, and an old Savoyard. It may
be that London did not, when he appeared here, in 1888 and
1889, take him at the valuation he had meanwhile set up in
America. From Mansfield, then, came the first outcry of
unfair treatment of American artists by European audiences,
oft-times repeated, always without foundation. On the
other hand, a London success enormously increases the
prestige, even of the greatest New York favourite. That is
why, when an American artist fails here, he goes home fierce
with stories of organised opposition and insular prejudice.
So great is the injury to his reputation and monetary status,
it must be explained, by any expedient.

But, with what tenderness and affection Rose Stahl
always speaks of this country ; and with what good
reason 1 A fairly successful actress throughout America,
it was reserved for the Palace audience to see genius
in The Chorus Lady, and when she went home again

zi6

AMERICAN COUSINS

America endorsed this opinion in the American way, by
making her a millionaire !

Apropos chorus ladies, we began the export to New York
of haughty blondes, by the agency of Lydia Thompson, many
years ago. When the Gaiety took up the business, marriage
depleted the George Edwardes companies to an alarming
extent. Suddenly, America invented a new type of chorus
girl, and in a charming spirit of reciprocity, sent us specimens.
Who can forget the impression made by The Belle of New
York, when it was produced at the Shaftesbury Theatre in
1898?

Mr William Archer denounced it as a " profligate orgy."
No matter ! It ran nearly two years. Somewhere or other, it
is running still. Much of its success was due to those regal,
restless chorus girls, but more to Edna May, who married
well, and still adorns London society, now and then singing
Follow On for a charity with the demureness and simplicity
of twenty years ago. Mr C. M. S. M'Clellan, who alternates
musical comedy with the soul-searching, or the pseudo-
soul-searching, Leah Kleshna, told me the story of Edna
May's beginning. " When we were casting The Belle of New
York for production at the New York Casino, we were con-
fronted by a difficulty, for we wanted the Salvation Army to
have purity and charm, and to be absolutely free from offence
— ^no ' popular favourite ' for us ! We got to the point of
rehearsing the piece without having an idea of its leading
lady. One day a girl in our chorus who had heard a whisper
of our difficulty, asked to see Mr Lederer and myself after a
rehearsal, and said she had a cousin, a girl in Hammerstein's
chorus, whom she was sure of. We said : ' Bring her along,'
and so Edna May (but her name was Pettie then) arrived.

117

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

She was so very demure, so unassuming that we thought we
had exceeded the limit. Anyhow, we rehearsed her. After
we had run her through, Lederer looked at me, and I looked
at him. We did not need to speak."

Mr R. G. Knowles is wont to resent the suggestion that he
held no position in America ere he came to London, in 1891,
but he will not deny that he owes immense aggrandisement to
English approval — which, again, he worked very hard to
secure. Seldom has there been such a trial of strength
between an audience, which did not quite " get " the " very
peculiar American comedian," and an actor, who was de-
termined to win, and did. There is now an intimacy between
" Dick " Knowles and his " kind friends in front " without
parallel.

Earlier visitors from England to America in the way of
music hall performers were not specially happy. Jenny
Hill, in spite of a freely circulated glossary of her slang, was
a comparative failure. Chevalier did not bring home the
pleasantest memory, at any rate, of his first night. Dan Leno
was a failure. Chirgwin took the first boat home. The music
hall, or " vawderville," as they curiously miscall it there,
was in its infancy. But when it did begin to grow. Jack's
beanstalk was a fool to it. The immense trusts of to-day
think nothing of offering an English artist five times, or even
ten times, the salary he coromands here, up to a thousand
pounds a week. And America is arbitrary in making its own
favourites. Twice at any rate during the past few years
has it advanced a girl of chorus rank here, from ajfew pounds
a week to himdreds.

We owe, or we owed, to America, negro minstrelsy, which,
after a life of little more than half-a-century, is as dead

ii8

AMERICAN COUSINS

as Queen Anne. For the curious it may be recorded that
the first EngUsh performer to black his face, and to sing a
song entitled The Coal Black Rose, was the fanwus comedian
of the Haymarket, John Baldwin Buckstone. Rice, one of
the fathers of American minstrelsy, visited this country in
1836 to sing the song that made him famous, Jump, Jim
Crow ! He is said to have developed the song, and dance,
from the antics of a deformed negro stable help, whom he
watched from the windows of his apartments in Louisville.
London caught the madness of New York. The streets rang
with the refrain of the song :

"Wheel about, turn about,
Do jes so ;
An' ebery time I wheel about
I jump Jim Crow."

There were Jim Crow hats, Jim Crow pipes — ^Jim Crow
everything.

Soon " Christy Minstrel " troupes crossed the Atlantic, and
here, as in America, fought for the right to that description.
The entertainment became immensely popular. Sir Robert
Peel patronised it gleefully. Thackeray wrote of it tenderly.
Gladstone is said to have distinguished himself greatly by
his performance, at private parties, of :

" We're bound to ride all night,
We're bound to ride all day.
And I bet my money on the bob-tailed nag —
And I lost my money on the grey."

Queen Victoria, who for years averted her face from the
regular theatre, but bestowed a curious patronage on wild
beast shows, circuses and so forth, often, at the entreaty of
her grandchildren, permitted a travelling minstrel troupe to

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FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

visit Balmoral, and professed to be deeply touched by the
late Charles Bernard's rendering of —

" Just before the battle, mother,
I was thinking most of you."-

For years the Moore and Burgess Minstrels thrived so
greatly at St James's Hall that they were able to boast that
they "never performed out of London." So strangely
assorted a pair as George Washington, familiarly " Pony,"
Moore and Frederick Burgess surely never lived together in
business amity. Away from St James's Hall they hardly
met. Burgess, who was the conmiercial manager, collected
first editions — ^his library fetched historic prices, after his
death — ^and courted the society of literary men, whom he
entertained lavishly.

Moore was the autocrat of the entertainment, for which
he contrived to get the reputation of innocuousness to schools
and families. His personal predilection was the prize ring.
He loved to be surrounded by pugilists, and betted largely
on their encounters. His origin was lowly — ^he got his nick-
name as a boy in an American circus — ^and his personal
habits curious. But he had a gift of melody, and put his
name to hundreds of songs, if he were not able to prove their
actual composition ; for instance :

" Don't you hear dem bells ?
Don't you hear dem bells ?
Yes, I hear dem bells,'*

which was sung at his graveside by a minstrel choir.

Here is a sample of his method. He gave an experimental
engagement to an American ballad vocalist and humorist,
whose singing at rehearsal he casually approved, but added

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AMERICAN COUSINS

impressively : " What you've got to do, is to make 'em laf ;
and if you don't make 'em laf, there's a boat sails for home
on Wednesday." The confident comedian prepared a joke
which had shaken New York to its foundations : " Why is
an old maid like a tomayto ? " the answer being : " Bekase
there's no male to mate her." Pray observe the American
accent. He sang his song with fine effect. Full of courage,
he attacked the interlocutor with his conundrum. " Well,
sir," repeated that important person in the approved style ;
" And why is an old maid like a tomahto ? " Faintly
came the response : " Bekase — bekase the boat sails on
Wednesday."

Once a year Moore took a benefit, and gave a ball, which
some of the greatest in stageland delighted to honour.
It was the most important function in old Bohemia.
Morning broke on a wild orgy ; and Moore's speech of
acknowledgment was wont to be unprintable — at any rate,
his supplementary speeches were. But whatever his strange
characteristics, negro minstrelsy died with him. The St
James's Hall entertainment, with the author of the ineffable
Passing of the Third Floor Back added to its staff, was formed
into a limited liability company. A vast hotel has swallowed
up even its site !

121

CHAPTER XVII

NIGHT CLUBS

The Receptions of Madam Cornelys — Early Victorian Night Houses
— The Corinthian Club — Two Lovely Black Eyes — Sergeant
Ballantyne behind the Scenes

WHEN St Patrick's Day comes round, Irishmen in
London prefer to do reverence to their patron
saint at the church in Soho Square, which has a
deeply interesting history of its own — but it does not come
within the scope of these records. Still, I wonder how many
of the pious pilgrims know that they are making their way
to the scene of the first night club ? For St Patrick's,
Soho, occupies in part the site of the mansion where Madam
Cornelys conducted her famous Receptions. Teresa, we
know, had been an opera singer on the Continent — ^you will
find much scandalous detail of her earlier in the memoirs of
the veracious Casanova. She acquired Carlisle House ; and
for several seasons smart society danced the nights through
under her direction. She must have had much skill in
organisation. Her advertisements were dignified and
plausible ; her charges of admission were high. The diarists
of that time describe glowing scenes in the great ballroom
which enclosed the garden of Carlisle House. But Madame
did not manage to make a fortune. She had rivals, and
powerful enemies ; and, after strange vicissitudes, including
the sale of asses' milk in the parks, died in the Fleet Prison.

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Mabel Gray

NIGHT CLUBS

At any rate there was not to be seen at her Receptions the
unveiled vice of the Kate Hamiltons and the Motts of Early
Victorian days; or at the more public Piccadilly Saloon,
near the Criterion, the Holbom Casino (where the notorious
Mabel Gray led the dances) on the site of which the Holbom
Restaurant now stands, and the Argyll Rooms, engulfed in
another restaurant, the Trocadero. Mabel Gray was an
assistant at Shoolbred's in her girihood. Tradition said she
married a Russian prince, and died in childbirth.

Colonel Greville, a buck of the Regency, foimded the
Argyll Rooms, which at first maintained a good style, in
competition with the Pantheon. The first building, known
as Laurent's Casino, of considerable beauty, was destroyed
by fire. There is extant a picture of the later rooms by
George Cruikshank's brother Robert — The Cyprian's Ball,

When the Argyll Rooms lost their licence for dancing their
last manager, Robert Bignell, who had made a vast fortune,
turned the building, with very little alteration, into a music
hall. The bar, or " lounge," was as large as the auditorium,
which it coromanded through arches ; and Bignell's suc-
cessor, Sam Adams, cultivated this side of the house as
carefully as he did the stgge performances. Adams was a
pleasant, gentlemanly man, who claimed, I believe, a county
family, much liked by men who gathered round him, and
bought seas of champagne, the only drink he personally
encouraged. But the place never prospered. Adams would
passionately indicate a tablet let into the wall, in memoriam
of the Argyll Rooms, which he declared to be a curse on his
enterprise. During its career as a music hall, the Trocadero
enjoyed a spell of popularity, when Charles Cobom sang
Two Lovely Black Eyes, a parody on a sentimental song of

iiJ3

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

American origin, Sweet Nelly's Blue Eyes. It drew the town
as nothing had done, probably, since Ross sang Sam Hall at
the Cider Cellars. But Coborn was unfortunate in having a
stale contract, and his salary at the time was no more than
ten pounds a week. He was allowed to duplicate at the
London Pavilion, but even then did not get his deserts,
or, at any rate, what would now be his market price. It was
at the Trocadero, too, that R. G. Knowles made his first
hit in town.

For a time after the suppression of the Argyll Rooms
London languished, no doubt, for the opportunity of late
dancing and drinking. An attempt to supply the deficiency
was made with the Lotos Club in Regent Street, founded by
one Russell, whose success in organising such institutions had
earned him the name of King of Clubs Russell. To do him
justice, he maintained a level of respectability which has
never been salubrious to " mixed " clubs, as his last venture,
the Prince of Wales's, ensuing to the Lyric Club, in Coventry
Street, proved once more. The Lyric Club was maintained
at the outset by that lifelong and lavish patron of the stage,
Lord Londesborough. An immediate follower of the Lotos
Gub was the New Club, ensuing to the Falstaff Club, on the
premises of Evans's song-and-supper rooms, Covent Garden.
Its secretary was Colonel Fred Wellesley, who married Kate
Vaughan, and the Gaiety was well represented in the member-
ship. But the New Club was dull, and died. Its room is
filled by the National Sporting Club.

No charge of dullness could be brought against the Corin-
thian Club, off St James's Square, inspired by John Hollings-
head. It endured for years, and succumbed, I believe, long
after HoUingshead's departure, to trouble in respect of card-

124

Evans's Music Hall

NIGHT CLUBS

playing. A certain pretence of daytime club life was main-
tained— lunches and dinners. But supper and dancing were
the mainstay of the club, which for a long time was a popular
resort of the smarter set in Bohemia. The famous chef,
" featured," as the Americans say, in the prospectus of the
original Corinthian Club, guaranteed a choice of twenty-five
cocktails, seventeen soups and thirty-three entrees. The
moral code of the club was, let us say, a limited polyandry.
In this respect it ranked higher than its hundred imitators,
which sprang up in all directions in the nineties.

Sam Lewis the money-lender, who began life as a traveller
in jewellery, chiefly working military depots, and died a multi-
millionaire, was fond of the Corinthian. A young barrister,
now of importance, who had halted on the threshold of his
career to dissipate a small fortune on the Stock Exchange,
said to him one night : "I wonder if you would like to lend
me a hundred pounds, Mr Lewis." "I should, my lad,"
said Sam, " but it 'ud be no kindness to you. I suppose
your frills will go up if I was to offer you a tenner for luck ? "

One of the keenest rivals of the Corinthian Gub was the
Gardenia, on the east side of Leicester Square. This was
directed at one time by the Brothers Bohee, two coloured
singers and dancers who had great charm. They mostly
dressed in smart white linen suits, played the banjo to ad-
miration and effectively sang such songs as A Boy^s Best
Friend is his Mother. London, following the lead of the
Prince of Wales, developed for the Bohees that infatuation
which is the perplexity, extending to disgust, of Americans ;
and the black fellows were ruined.

During its career the Gardenia Gub was the scene of a
performance deemed deliciously improper in those days — ere

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FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

" classical " dancing had arrived. La Goulue was at that
time one of many dancers whom Paris was supposed to admire
— though the admiration was chiefly supplied by vulgar
excursionists. Anyway, La Goulue and three high-kicking
damsels were imported to Leicester Square, and the members
of the Gardenia Club were accorded the opportunity of
witnessing their disgusting and wholly indescribable antics.

Elsewhere in London were innumerable night clubs — the
Waterloo, the Palm, the Alsatian, the Thalia, the Nell
Gwynne, the Supper Club (longest lived of all). In one case
the proprietor was the widower of one of the greatest stars
that ever shone in the comic opera firmament. Another was
run by the brother of a distinguished actor-manager. There
would be a farcical form of election to membership, a
" committee " and a subscription. But mostly all rules were
disregarded. Any patron of apparent promise was elected
on the doormat, and so the clubs fell an easy prey to the police.
They would be raided as gambling hells or as the resort of
loose women, and proof of all their iniquities was easy.

During the daytime these clubs were the abomination of
desolation. Indeed they continued in this mood till mid-
night. Then the visitor must present himself at a heavy door
in an ill-lighted street. He would be furtively eyed through
a wicket, perhaps admitted cautiously by a liveried porter,
who was usually a retired prize-fighter. An ante-room had
to be crossed, and a second door negotiated. Then the in-
truder reached a hall of dazzling light, a large room where
dancing was " indulged in," as the reporters say, to the
strains of a string band eked out by a piano. A supper-room
never acquired much importance, but at several bars vile
drink would be dispensed at a many-per-cent. profit.

126

Skrieant Hai.i.antink

NIGHT CLUBS

A vast number of well-known people used to affect the
night clubs — theatrical folk, literary folk, legal luminaries,
of course with the object of studying human nature. An
eminent K.C. of to-day was seldom missing from the old
Corinthian Club — and the memory certainly made him a
little tender in his cross-examination, in a recent case, of
a fellow viveur with whom fortune had not dealt so gently.
It would never have done for him to risk such a retort as
Sergeant Ballantyne got. " And pray, sir " (said the famous
bully), "may I ask what you, an Enghsh public man,
were doing at the Moulin Rouge on a Sunday night."
" Well, Sergeant, pretty much the same thing as you were
doing behind the scenes at the Alhambra on Saturday night."
Ballantyne was, of course, one of the mainstays of the
Alhambra in his day.

Some years ago the police swept away the night clubs with
a ruthless hand. It may be their scandal reached a limit
when a well-known actress was knocked down, in the Nell
Gwynne Club, Long Acre, by a race-horse owner of eccentric
habits, and kicked, as it might be in Billingsgate. Bow
Street was invoked, but a now well-known actor-manager
intervened, the summons was withdrawn, the world at large
disappointed of a huge sensation, and a matter of ten
thousand pounds changed hands.

There has lately been a flourishing recrudescence of night
clubs, though the war checked their growth. What their
potentialities are may be gathered from the fact that the
proprietor of one, who was not notorious for his wealth, made
nearly fifty thousand pounds in a twelvemonth.

127

CHAPTER XVIII

DEAD-HEADS AND CLAQUERS

How Theatres are packed — Some Subterfuges of Seat-beggars —
Henry Irving and the BaiUff — The Chorus that sang too soon
— M. Quelquechose, Organiser of Success

ONE of our most experienced managers assured
me that if it were possible to establish a kind of
clearing-house for seat-beggars — that is, to give all
applicants with some sort of a credential, real or imagined,
an " order " for a particular house periodically reserved
for their delectation — it would be possible to pack a good-
sized theatre nightly with these play-loving paupers — from
fifteen hundred to two thousand. This plan might relieve
prosperous theatres, but it certainly would not satisfy the
" dead -head," nor would it suppress him. Nothing will do
that. He is the most fastidious in selection, the most critical,
the least satisfied of playgoers. For him, the best is seldom
good enough, and to offer him other than he particularly
demands is to court reproach. Moreover, it would not suit
the theatres, on all occasions, to avail themselves of such a
clearing-house. The dead-head has his uses, and there is
no manager, say what he will, who is wholly independent
of him.

Was it Buckstone, or was it Ben Webster, to whom a
brother manager complained that he could not lure the public
to his theatre, even with free seats ? Said Webster, or it

128

DEAD-HEADS AND CLAQUERS

may have been Buckstone, "Have you tried 'em with
a drink ? " The truth is, every empty seat is injurious to
the morale of a theatre. A crowded house is an incompar-
ably effective advertisement, and heartens the performers.
Now, every theatrical manager will tell you that the play
which appeals to every class of the commimity has yet to be
written. The stalls are often packed while the less expensive
seats drag ; or pit, circles and gallery will, in their thousands,
gaze across an empty stretch of stalls. So every theatrical
manager has at one time or another seats for distribution at
no loss to himself, and, whatever his pretence, assuredly does
distribute them according to his discretion, or to such discre-
tion as he thinks he has. And a wisely bestowed seat blesses
him who gives just as much as it blesses him who takes.

As to whom a manager might, or does, or should present
seats — ^that is his affair entirely. To say that a journalist, or
any other, has a " right " of admission to a theatre is pre-
posterous nonsense. No right exists. A theatre is a place
of business ; it is for its manager to decide how he will conduct
it. It has been found mutually convenient for the theatres
to issue free seats, or " invitations " for first performances to
the representatives of newspapers, who are sometimes twitted
with getting their amusement for nothing. That assumes,
of course, amusement ! I venture to assert that any space,
in any newspaper, filled with any-tempered remark about a
theatre, is of a value as mere " publicity " at least equal to
the price of the seat.

It is the custom of the West End theatres to issue from

seventy to a hundred seats to the newspapers for a first night.

To an expert the " second seat " affords interesting study.

Most of the regular writers about the stage have a subsidiary

I 129

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

job — a daily and perhaps also a weekly paper, an evening
paper and perhaps also a provincial paper. This second seat
is filled by the critic's wife, or his cousin, or his confidential
secretary, or even an obliging tradesman. To the theatre
manager, who feels that he is entertaining a guest whom he
did not select, the " second seat " is a source of rage and irri-
tation— to the disinterested, of infinitely amusing surmise.

It is a popular error to suppose that the familiar celebrities
making up a London first night are all dead-heads. There
are quite a number of important persons well known to be so
deeply interested in the theatre as to wish to attend most
first performances and to pay for their seats. For them at
the leading theatres seats are wont to be reserved till the
option is taken up or declined. Of course every manager
reserves a right of hospitality to his intimate friends. And
the old hand could mostly identify the house if he glanced
at the stalls through a hole in an unknown curtain. Tree's
first nights differ from Irving 's of old ; the Haymarket differs
from the St James's. One manager has a kindly, character-
istic habit of making his second row of stalls a pageant of
superannuated sweethearts. Another flaunts his dubious
city friendships. Elsewhere one sees Freemasonry pre-
dominant, or sport, or the vestry.

But there is still the eternal mendicant. He is often an
actor — ^and some managers most especially resent his im-
portunities, while others find a particular pleasure in giving
to a " worn and weary brother." Sad to relate, he is mostly
imgrateful and hypercritical. Once, with a friend I had
adjourned to the buffet. " Well ? " I said interrogatively.
"I think," was the response, "he is the worst Hamlet I
ever saw." The dismal face, unmistakably of an old actor,

130

DEAD-HEADS AND CLAQUERS

was thrust between us. "Young gentlemen," said he,
" forgive the intrusion, but may I pay for your drinks ? "

When the brothers Kiralfy worked in amity, a seat-seeker
was referred to Bolossy, who inspected his card, and said :
" Yes ! yes ! You got to see my brother ! " walking on-
ward to other business. Three times within two hours the
patient dead-head repeated the process, venturing at last
to say : " Will your brother be long, sir ? " " My brother
is in New York," said the imperturbable Bolossy.

An old actor accosted Augustus Harris in the vestibule of
Drury Lane. "And what can I do for you ? ' ' said the great man.
" I thought you might find me two stalls," the visitor
proceeded. The showman instinct rose in Harris.

" Two stalls ! You might just as well ask me for a guinea
to-night."

" And I know the time when that would have given you
a bit of trouble, Gus," was the irrepressible retort of old
friendship. Harris capitulated, like the good fellow he was.

During the long run of Charley^ s Aunt at the Globe, a
member of the company received a letter begging his kindly
offices for two seats. ' ' My name may not be familiar to you ' '
(said the applicant), " but I venture to remind you that during
a long residence in Birmingham I had the distinguished
honoiu* of cutting your late revered father's corns."

Once a play was in progress at the Vaudeville, which had
not appealed greatly to the public. There walked into the
vestibule, somewhat unsteadily, a smartly dressed man, who
preferred to the acting manager a request for a seat. Eager
for any excuse to fill a stall with so presentable a person, the
official began to interrogate his visitor. Was he a journalist ?
Had he a friend in the company ? Was he directly or

131

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

indirectly concerned with the stage — in short, could he give
any reason whatsoever why he should be accorded a free seat ?

" Dear old chap," came the unsteady reply, " look at
the rain."

Hardly less impudent was the gentleman in evening dress,
accompanied by a lady, who handed a card to a West End
acting manager with the remark that he had been given to
understand that it would procure him two seats.

"I'm afraid you've been fooled," was the reply. "I
don't know the gentleman."

"But I've brought this lady out. I — ^I — ^well, it isn't
convenient for me to pay."

" Sorry I can't help you," said the manager.

" Well — ^you look a sportsman, w-wont you give me your
card to some other Johnny ? " said the unabashed rounder.

Sir Henry Irving laughed at this story more heartily than
most folk to whom I have told it : a well-known literary
man received an acutely professional visit from two bailiffs
of the Clerkenwell County Court, with the elder of whom he
had to return to Duncan Terrace, while the younger remained
in possession. The business proved capable of speedy ar-
rangement. The bailiff, striking a note of sympathy with
his charge, spent three hours in the capacity of a gossiping
guide to theatrical Islington. He remembered Grimaldi,
and still wept for Phelps. When the parting came the
man of letters tried to slip half-a-sovereign into the hand of
his quaint friend. It was sternly refused. Would he accept
no memorial of that morning ? Yes — ^he would like two
seats for the theatre. " For anjrwheres, guv'nor — ^always
exceptin' the Lyceum. I could never stomach 'im."

At the Savage Club one night Henry Pettitt suggested an

132

DEAD-HEADS AND CLAQUERS

expedition to the old Olympic, where, he had heard, an un-
authorised performance of one of his plays was in progress.
As we approached the theatre a friendly person on the
pavement slipped two orders for the pit into our hands.
Alas I the pit was declared to be full. But we could get
" transfers " to the upper circle for eighteenpence each.
Pettitt did not think he cared for the upper circle. He
mischievously inspected, and declined, seats at various rates
of " transfer," and finally asked for a rebate, in respect of
his pit orders, of two shillings on a two-guinea box. The
box-office keeper saw the transaction acquiring a magnitude
beyond his powers, and sent for the manager.

"Why, Mr Pettitt," said that functionary, recognising
his visitor with some distress, " what can I do for you, sir ? '

" Take my piece off, and be damned to you for a rogue,"
said the angry dramatist.

Some orders have a definite cash value. There used to
be, and still may be, a barber's shop in Drury Lane where
"orders" purchased from their original recipients were
regularly on sale — ^the prices current, of half-guinea stalls,
ranging from eighteenpence to five shillings, was an interest-
ing appraisement of the popularity of a "popular success."

Organised opposition is a phrase often in the mouth of
the disappointed impresario. But what about organised
applause ? On a greater or a lesser scale, it is not uncommon.
An audience is easily led, and a single cheer will often swell
to a chorus. The temptation to ensure that single cheer is
great, and I do not know that one can be too hard on the
friend of the debutant who succumbs.

I well recall a Graiety first night, when a charming girl
had to sing a seductive song with a swinging chorus. Twenty

133

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

gallery boys had been trained to pick it up. Alas ! they
did not wait to hear the singer, but roared their verse lustily
the moment the orchestra gave the note. The audience,
at first bewildered, quickly appreciated the situation and
shouted with laughter.

All this is innocent enough; but for many years there
flourished around Leicester Square a gang of claquers capable
of infamous excesses. Their leader was well known — I
have often sat near him in the cafes in the neighbourhood.
He made no secret of his trade, had printed cards, " M. Quel-
quechose : organiser of success," and he was even recognised
by some managements. Foreign artists familiar with the
institution at home frankly accepted it here. I don't know
that much harm was done by the procuration of a little
applause. But one step farther led the jealous performer to
procure the reverse of applause for a rival — ^and so we once had
rioting long continued at the Alhambra, which the police could
not quell, but which the humour of a comedian did. One
night when the accustomed demonstration began he wearily
composed himself for sleep at the foot of a proscenium pillar
till the noise should cease. There was a shout of laughter,
and no more demonstration. Meanwhile, in abortive pro-
ceedings at Marlborough Street, both the distinguished
artists involved admitted the employment of the claquers.

Worst feature of the claque system : when the ruffians who
battened on it were refused employment they grew insolent
and backed their blackmailing demands with threats and even
with assault. It is not so long since the directorate of one of
the great variety houses adjacent to Leicester Square circu-
lated, officially, the confident statement that it had at length
completely eradicated the scandal of the claque ! I wonder !

134

CHAPTER XIX

PRINCES AND PALACES

The " Royal Command " to the Music Hall — A Noble " Chairman "
— King Edward a Prisoner — Dan Leno at Court — A Terrible
Tragedy

WHEN, in 1912, the King and Queen paid a formal
visit to the Palace Theatre, and thrilled the
music hall profession with tardy "recognition,''
the precedent of Mr Justice Coleridge, in demanding an official
description of Connie Gilchrist, was carefully followed. It
was assumed that their Majesties would arrive at the Palace
Theatre with a childlike ignorance of the music hall and its
professors, and decided that no song or smirk must run the
risk of offence. This sedulous process of sterilisation had a
curious sequel. George Robey was the outstanding success
of the show.

But King George, like his father and his imcles, had a
pretty fair knowledge of the West End music halls, notably
of the Alhambra, the Empire and the London Pavilion —
acquired, of course, unofficially. Queen Alexandra had
visited the Empire and the Alhambra — ^there were no fewer
than nineteen royal visits to the last-named house during
the run of Sir Arthur Sullivan's ballet. In the old days
of the Aquarium, Queen Alexandra "running in," as she
often did, with her children, must have acquired a
certain^ intimacy with the characteristics of the modem

135

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

music hall. Genee, she made several opportunities of
seeing; and now that the ice is broken, often visits the
London Coliseum, especially when there is a ballet dancer
of distinction there.

Queen Victoria's patronage was once curiously obtained
for a music hall performance. Even while, in the long days
of her mourning, she averted her face from the theatre, less
distinguished entertainments often foimd their way to her
presence on the intercession of her grandchildren — ^Bernard
and Vestris's Minstrels, Wombwell's Wild Beast Show,
Hengler's and Sanger's circuses and Buffalo Bill were well-
accustomed visitors at Court before the theatre and the opera
came into their own again. But most productive was her
Majesty's casual patronage of a troupe of bears, wandering
the country-side in a humble way. They were quickly noted
by an astute agent, brought to the Oxford Music Hall, and, as
the " Royal Bears," were the great attraction of the moment.
Incidentally, they ousted Clarence Holt from his dressing-
room, an outrage which " the favourite Hamlet of the
Crowned Heads of Europe" resented in torrents of
blasphemy and coarsely humorous contrast.

Some thirty years ago the Prince of Wales created a mild
sensation by entertaining at dinner, on a Sunday evening,
half-a-dozen actors, none of whom were, in fact, strangers to
him. And shortly there was more trouble, when it became
known that " Jolly John " Nash and Arthur Lloyd had been
summoned to the house of the Earl of Carrington, there,
under the guidance of William Holland, at the time
managing the Alhambra, to entertain a party including the
heir apparent. Nash boldly accosted his host as "Mr
Chairman," and demanded a " chorus all together " for

136

PRINCES AND PALACES

the song in which at the time he was particularly
popular ;

" Hey I hi ! here, stop 1 Waiter, waiter 1 Fizz ! Pop I
I'm Racketty Jack, no money I lack
And I'm the boy for a spree."

"We continued," wrote Mr Nash, in an account of his
experience, " to sing alternately, Arthur Lloyd and myself,
until about four in the morning, and left with an assurance
that we had much pleased his lordship and his princely
guest." Lloyd was summoned to a second party ; and this
time asked to bring Alfred Vance.

King Edward's first official visit to a music hall was
probably to the London Coliseum, not then, indeed, a music
hall, at the outset of its vicissitudinous career, now set in a
groove of prosperity. A wonderful box had been contrived —
the proudest detail of Mr Oswald Stoll's tremendous struc-
ture. The illustrious guest was to step from his carriage into
a waiting apartment, to touch a button, and to travel
quickly, almost imperceptibly, to his appointed seat. The
box worked a velours, till the King entered it. Then it stuck
obstinately. His Majesty was not wont to experience such
accidents patiently, but for once was in a fine humour when
he was released from his prison. " Donald, Donald — ' Eh !
What, what, what ? ' " he said to the unhappy acting manager,
quoting a song which Marie Lloyd was singing at the time.
And he proceeded to hope that the stage machinery, of which
he had heard so much, would not play similar tricks with the
anxious impresario.

Toward Christmas, 1901, the variety stage got its first
important recognition — Dan Leno was summoned to

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FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

Sandringham, where he gave a liberal selection from his
repertoire before a family party.

The suggestion came from George Ashton, who for many
years personally managed King Edward's playgoing, and
whose deepest impression is one of his Majesty's anxiety
to let his entertainers know that their efforts had been
appreciated. "I remember," Mr Ashton recalled the other
day, " an occasion on which the King proposed a visit to the
Haymarket, where Arthur Cecil was playing different parts
in some play, on alternate evenings. The King had informed
himself of the fact that Cecil preferred himself greatly in one
part, and asked that care be taken that a night on which
Mr Cecil could feel at his best should be selected." The
Sandringham entertainment to which reference is made was
the first sanctioned by the King after his accession to the
throne ; and it was Mr Ashton who suggested that the
occasion might fitly be chosen for a specific recognition of
the variety stage, toward which King Edward had always
had a kindly disposition ; and in that spirit Leno was in-
cluded. The little man was possessed by nervousness, but
acquitted himself bravely, and was quite himself when he
reached London again.

He completely disregarded the rule of reticence hitherto
sternly imposed on the entertainers of royalty ! The news-
papers were filled with serio-comic stories of Dan's adventures
— ^how he joked the footman, how he forgot the important
half of his dress suit, and had to improvise, how he wandered
into the shrubbery to cool down before supper, and was
arrested by a detective, and how much he owed, in his
nervous elation, to "King Edward's usual kindness and
tact."

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PRINCES AND PALACES

A siege of the London Pavilion was the immediate result.
For days there was a queue at the box-office, made up for the
most part of people who had never before visited a music
hall. But what was good enough for the King was good
enough for them. And the coffers of the Pavilion over-
flowed.

This was but three years before Leno's death ; and there
is no doubt the poor little man was already suffering from
the malady which killed him. He became terribly excited ;
and indulged in the wildest dreams of honours that might
be conferred. But saner folk in music hall land have
suffered from that malady !

He thought that at least the office of the King's Jester
should be revived. Apropos, it has been in abeyance since
Stuart times, though W. F. Wallet, a circus clown, habitually
used it. A discreet official to whom Leno personally
mooted the question suggested that he should set out his
views in writing ; but he never did so. As the clouds
settled over his intellect, he would confer knighthood on all
and sundry. Later, the opportunity of entertaining the
Court was accorded to Mr Harry Lauder and Mr Bransby
Williams.

In the spring of 1911 it was made known that King George
and his Queen proposed to honour a performance by selected
music hall artists. The late Sir Edward Moss was mainly
responsible, and the intention was that the Empire, Edin-
burgh, should be the scene of the function, the Court being
in that neighbourhood. This apparent agreement with the
King's convenience had the further effect of preventing any
jealous competition of London halls. The arrangements for
the command performance were well on their way when one

139

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

of the most terrible tragedies in the history of popular
entertainment occurred. The apparatus for illuminating
the performance of an American conjurer named Lafayette
miscarried. The theatre was burned to the ground. There
was a terrible loss of life, Lafayette himself perishing. And
in sight of this holocaust all thought of the Command
Performance was abandoned.

We shall never get the inner history of the Command
Performance of 1912 — ^a fierce contortion of personal ambi-
tion, a bitter antagonism of jealousies, a triumph for nobody
in particular. Moss was on his deathbed when it was
announced that the question of a Command Performance had
been revived ; that it would take place in London, and at
the Palace Theatre. With the choice of the Palace there was
no great quarrel — ^none, on the part of the public. It proved
that the turn of the only other house seriously concerned
in a competition was to come. But the programme — ^who
was to be included ? and by whom ? The difficulties of the
committee were greater than the layman can imagine. It
was not a question, merely, of scheduling the fifteen or twenty
most distinguished artists. A programme must " balance.".
A procession of singers would have been stupid. The risk
of monotony, of stage weights — all these technical matters
had to be considered.

Soon it was whispered about that the artist most char-
acteristic of the modem variety stage was to be excluded
from the chosen company ; and in some quarters there was
expectation of a poignant counterblast. But it never came.
When at last the list was made public, its dominant spirit
was at once apparent. In the event, there was a picturesque
crowd, a rather dull performance which could not, by the

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PRINCES AND PALACES

wildest stretch of imagination, be called typical of the
English music hall, but, above all, there was another
brilliantly contrived world-wide and sensational advertise-
ment for the Palace Theatre.

Not a " Command " performance, but one of rare interest
and distinction, was given at the London Coliseum in the
autumn of 1913. It was nominally on the incentive of Sarah
Bernhardt, in aid of the Charing Cross Hospital and the
French hospital ; and, in its association of great dramatic
artists as Ellen Terry, great lyric artists as Madame Kirkby
Lunn, three musical knights, and Yvette Guilbert, recorded
the last phase of the music hall. But it contrived to assemble
not less than a dozen typical low comedians, some of them
with tinted noses. They should have chanted The Brook.

141

CHAPTER XX

MUSIC HALL AGENCY

Hugh Jay Didcott — His Extravagance — Where Celebrities were
discovered — Many Marriages — The Quarrels of Artists and
Managers

I HAVE never chosen my friends for their virtues ; and
so I still preserve of Hugh Jay Didcott a memory more
tender than of many who have left these latitudes.
" You know the best of me, and the worst of me," he once
said. The retort was not to be repressed ; nor was it
resented : " And they're both all right, Diddy 1 "

Let the worst rest, now ! It has been volubly recorded.
The secret of Didcott's life was a passion for spending money.
He described it as an incurable disease. I have never
encountered such reckless extravagance — to the most trivial
detail of personal expenditure. I have known him, penni-
less, borrow a five-pound note, and spend four pounds ten
shillings on the immediate entertainment of the person who
had lent it. The only prevision he ever practised was to
retain a cab fare — ^homeward at night, and inward on the
morrow. To gratify his mania for squandering money, he
would procure it by any means ; but, to my observation, the
most severe critics of his life and character were those most
deeply indebted to his genius and to his prodigality.

It would be hard to estimate the direct and indirect
obligation of the modern music hall, and of individual

142

MUSIC HALL AGENCY

professors thereof, to his prescience and skill. He was an
incomparably fine judge of every kind of public performance,
from Fechter's Hamlet to "Mr Mounsey," which was his
favourite style for incompetence ; a coarse and scathing
critic — especially of the capacity, and cupidity, of other
agents. They are, indeed, a strange lot, in their range from
vulgar probity to prosperous parasitism. In the neighbour-
hood of 1890 Didcott's business was worth not less than
ten thousand a year. He died insolvent, though the kindly
ministration of relatives kept him in luxury, through the
agonies of cancer, to the last hour of his life.

He was not the first agent — that distinction belongs to
Ambrose Maynard, whose successor was Didcott's immediate
predecessor, Charles Roberts. This information is not
particularly important, but may guarantee one's good faith.
Didcott certainly endowed music hall agency with style and
commercial system, and remained throughout his life its
most picturesque figure. He has taken performers from
soldiers' sing-songs, from Margate sands, from East End
music halls, from penny gaffs — I could append great names
to all these instances, but naturally I refrain. He has be-
stowed upon these "discoveries" attractive descriptions,
dressed them presentably, provided them with pocket
money, selected songs for them and strenuously rehearsed
them. Of a world-famous serio-comic singer, whom he
admired prodigiously, his despair was that " one might

spend a hundred guineas on a gown for the and still

she wouldn't clean her nails."

Didcott's training for his career was that he was an
inveterate man about town ere he was out of his teens. I
have heard much nonsense talked about his humble origin.

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FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

He was, in fact, the son of a prosperous furrier, from whom
he inherited money, soon squandered. His elder brother
was a wealthy stockbroker. His two nephews were men of
importance on the Stock Exchange too. A third is an able
barrister. " Didcott " was impulsively annexed from the sign
of the railway station, by a passing traveller whose affairs had
induced perplexity, and who, turning over a new leaf, thought
well to indite a new name at the top of the page. The earlier
" Maurice " was also assumed. Never mind the original.

One never appealed in vain to Didcott for information as
to the Bohemian life of the sixties, or as to theatrical event.
He was a glib Shakespearean scholar, well versed in Hebrew
text and ritual, fluent in French and German, and a smart
lawyer, especially in respect of the conflicts of debtor and
creditor. In early days of need he tried several trades. The
first which concerns us is that of the actor. He played
Macbeth at Drury Lane, and, I have heard, pretty well.
Then he became a comic singer. Florence St John was a
music hall vocalist at that time, and the two, in camaraderie,
would make one pair of white kid gloves serve them ! Didcott
had a song with a refrain which an unkind manager whistled
significantly as he counted four sovereigns into the artist's
expectant palm at "treasury." It was "Never again;
never again ! " This may have ended the career of a comic
singer ; and so, meant much for agency.

For twenty years artists begged and intrigued for the
privilege of describing Didcott as their agent. He paid
himself generously for his work, but then, it was payment
largely by results. The performer whose weekly wage had
been run up from five pounds to fifty could hardly resist a
liberal percentage of the large, unhoped-for balance. The

144

MUSIC HALL AGENCY

expenses of such a business, even its legitimate expenses,
are enormous. The weekly outgoings from the agent's
York Road office were swollen by a hundred pensions — to
serious dependents, to casual domesticities, to pensioners
listed in a spirit of pure benevolence, to barefaced black-
mailers.

Some of Didcott's early matrimonial adventures became
public property. With his right hand he gave to the stage a
charming actress, who married well, and retired ; with his
left, the amazing Maud Darrell, who died within a few weeks
of her father. But few, even of his most intimate associates,
knew that in 1890 he secretly married a charming lady, an
accomplished artist, with whom, in spite of divagations, he
lived in affectionate communion, maintaining a home, which
changed twenty-one times in twenty-two years (that was one
of his cherished customs) from one London suburb to another,
and visiting it pretty regularly for a Sunday dinner which had
scrupulously preceded him.

Princely entertaining was a part of his business system.
Two items, only, of this outlay were a luncheon-table at
Simpson's, and a dinner-table at Romano's, habitually
reserved, always filled to their capacity, and entered to the
large account of the enterprising impresario, whose taste
in cigars was, incidentally, that of a super-connoisseur,
but who never drank, save in extreme moderation.

When the linking up of music halls and the " cornering "
)f artists first began to commend themselves to managers — ^to
[ewson Smith, Sutton, Payne and the really considerable
len of that day — ^Didcott's voice was influential at the board,
rise, and certain. When the first whispers of dispute between
^e music hall artists as a body and the music hall managers
K 145

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

as a body were heard it was open to the agent to go over to
the managers, who would have eagerly associated him, and
his course might have proved to be that of the diplomatist.
The ideal of agency is to play the part of an honest broker
between manager and performer. But music hall agents
have never dealt in the ideal. Some cannot spell the word,
more cannot understand it, and most cultivate a Teutonic
materialism.

At any rate, Didcott discarded the managers, and called a
meeting of the performers. A policy of cohesion was agreed
upon. It was the cohesion of a fine, dry, silver sand. The
unhappy agent, who may have been sincere in his adherence
to the then weaker side, or who may have desired[ to hunt with
the hounds and run with the hare, was left friendless, on either
side, and led a troubled, unprofitable life to its end. But he
stood erect, invincibly resourceful, gay, sarcastic, a careful
and well-restrained viveur — the most exigeant customer at
Shipwright's, an indifferent player at billiards, more efficient
at poker, a lively, instructive companion — a man the mention
of whose name still always sounds the summons of apologetic
loyalty ; but whose memory can always command the tears
of one friend, unforgetting.

146

CHAPTER XXI

COUNTERFEIT PRESENTMENTS

Stories of Stage Caricature — Oscar Wilde in Comedy and Opera
— The " darned mounseer " — Irving and his Imitators — The
Sensitive Sultan

WHEN Dr Johnson heard that Foote proposed to
caricature him he gripped his cane and briefly
stated the course he would take in such an event.
He is understood to have had no further provocation. The
cane should properly take the form of the Lord Chamberlain,
who has boen brought into use on many occasions by persons
of importance, aggrieved by counterfeit presentments.

It is probable that the name of Mr Ayrton would long ago
have been forgotten did it not survive in connection with an
historic instance of stage caricature. In Happy Land — of
which, it being a burlesque of his own Wicked World, W. S.
Gilbert was part author — ^produced at the Court Theatre in
1873, there was a wild dance by three members of the Govern-
ment, Mr Gladstone, Mr Robert Lane and Mr Ayrton, the for-
gotten Commissioner of Works, which caused a terrible to-do.
Having begun thus early, Gilbert may be said to have
become an habitual offender. One of his biographers speaks
of the "aesthetic craze" as having been "killed" by
^ Patience. Bunthorne was at any rate clearly meant for Oscar
Wilde, who was always a convenient mark for the satirist.
He made his theatrical debut in Where's the Cat, at the

147

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

Criterion. His representative, as Scott Ramsey, was then Sir
Herbert Tree, destined to be caricatured himself ad nauseam.
Wilde appeared again as Lambert Streyke in The Colonel,
and again in The Charlatan at the Haymarket — written, by
the way, around Home, the spiritualist.

Gilbert's very obvious attack on the Kaiser in the dancing
hussar episode introduced to The Grand Duke passed without
remark. But his Mikado caused diplomatic exchanges —
after a respectable career of thirty years on the stage ! Mrs
D'Oyly Carte contemplated a revival of the opera about the
time of Prince Fushima's visit to this country, but she received
an imperative hint to abandon the revival, and shortly an
official order was promulgated that during the visit of his
Japanese Highness not a note of the music of The Mikado
should offend his ear.

In an earlier instance, France was called to arms in respect
of Gilbert's ribaldry ; and it is said that twenty brave officers
offered to " meet " him. This was apropros to a phrase,
' ' the darned mounseer , ' ' in Buddigore. Really, Gilbert meant
to satirise our insular contempt for foreigners, but the London
correspondent of The Figaro construed the verses otherwise,
and telegraphed them to his paper with angry comment.
Poor M. Johnson ! In spite of his name he was exceedingly
French. He lived here forty years, but never imderstood
us, or our language, though he made many friends, being an
amiable old creature. To " see ourselves as others see us "
one had but to read the contributions of M. Johnson to
The Figaro. He took the deepest interest in Guilbert's first
visit to London, and it may be his exertions hastened his
death, which took place during the course of her engagement
at the Empire.

14S

COUNTERFEIT PRESENTMENTS

Eastern potentates have always been super-sensitive. In
an old-time Strand burlesque, by Sir Frank Bumand, called
Kissi-Kissi, Henry Corri, one of a large, musical family,
now represented by the redoubtable referee of the National
Sporting Club fights, presented a faithful likeness of the
Shah, with the curious adornment of a necklace of pawn
tickets. There was an immediate remonstrance, to which
the management opposed the explanation that Mr Corri
really couldn't help himself. He was naturally so dark, and
habitually wore a moustache. What he did not habitually
wear was a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, a turban, and so
forth. Corri is known, in fact, to have made a careful and
intimate study of the Shah. The management promised to
tone down the picture, but went no further than to introduce
to the stage a bucket labelled " Whitewash for Corri." Ap-
parently the Lord Chamberlain's office was content to have
given Kissi-Kissi a bold advertisement, as in the case of
Vert-Vert at the St James's Theatre. The dresses of a ballet
having been adversely criticised — it was, in fact, the can-
can, which was denounced in Vanity Fair and led to a libel
action, which the paper won — ^the late Richard Mansell
demurely asked for a suggestion as to their alteration ;
and, having received a word of advice, announced that
the ballet would henceforth be danced in costumes designed
by the Lord Chamberlain. His indifference to authority
was eventually punished by his banishment from London,
as a responsible manager, at any rate, for a term of many
years.

Another burlesque, at the Gaiety, provoked the wrath of
another sunburnt sovereign. In Don Juan there was a
suggestion of a Grand Vizier on a round of the town. Quickly,

149

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

George Edwardes was brought to book, and the character
was modified out of all likeness to its original. Perhaps the
revision of the play robbed it of its charm. Certain it is
that the life of Don Juan, in which Cissie Loftus made her
stage debut as the sweetest Haidee, was short ; and Mr
Edwardes chose this moment for the parting of the ways.
Modem musical comedy replaced the form of burlesque
which Hollingshead quaintly associated with a " sacred
lamp." A second time the Sublime Porte was concerned
with a piece of much popularity in the provinces called
Secrets of the Harem. The proprietor met the case by
simply reducing the title to Secrets.

George Edwardes was called over the coals again in
respect of " Owen Hall's " original book of The Gaiety
Girl. The censor objected to many lines, and to the de-
scription of a judge as Mr Justice ]\Iay — it was so nearly
Jeune. A rearrangement was effected at the eleventh hour
— or later; and the actors forgot to forget. So the first-
night audience really heard the unexpurgated edition at the
Prince of Wales's Theatre.

It was playing with fire to touch even gently on Sir
George Lewis, but this was done on several occasions,
notably in Marriage, at the Court Theatre. Arthur i
Roberts was quickly stopped in a caricature of Lord
Randolph Churchill — Fm a Regular Randy, Pandy Oh.

Throughout his career Irving was an easy mark for the,
mimic. Probably Edward Righton set the fashion, with
a travesty of The Bells, in a burlesque called Christabelle, ati
the Court Theatre, proceeding immediately to " take off "
Mademoiselle Sara, otherwise "Wiry Sal," the cancan danceri
Sal, by the way, was Miss Wright, an original member ol

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COUNTERFEIT PRESENTMENTS

Colonna's troupe, who became, " on her own," the town
toast. In Richelieu Redressed, produced at the Olympic on
the eve of a General Election in 1873, and declaring that " In
the great lexicon of politics there's no such word as truth,"
Righton again attacked Irving, and so it went on to the day
of the great actor's death — then still continued. Irving
detested mimicry, and is understood to have invoked the aid
of authority to suppress it in the case, again, of Fred Leslie
and Ruy Bias. There was an audacious yas de quatre, with
Ben Nathan as Toole, Fred Storey as Edward Terry and
Charles Danby as Wilson Barrett.

Some men have taken caricature as a compliment. In-
credible as it may seem, a well-known city man was delighted
to be identified with the philandering old fool, Lionel Roper,
in The Mind the Paint Girl, and used to make up parties
of his friends to contemplate his degradation. Whether Sir
Arthur Pinero or Mr Dion Boucicault was really guilty of
the photography, deponent sayeth not. The old clerg3maan,
a friend of the Hawtrey family, caricatured in The Private
Secretary, never missed a chance of seeing the Reverend
Robert Spalding.

In the Adelphi melodrama, London Day by Day, one
recalls Lord Ailesbury; in later Drury Lane dramas the
Duchess of Montrose, Sam Lewis the money-lender, Carlton
Blythe, a once well-known man about town, the Duke
of Beaufort, and Marie Lloyd — ^who was first asked to
impersonate herself.

That what are called " character studies " often have
originals, deliberately chosen, or unconsciously, is certain.
Edward Terry was once asked by a barrister friend to come
over to the Law Courts and look at Dick Phenyl, a derelict

151

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

who was believed by his colleagues to have provided the
actor with his original. Terry protested his ignorance, just
as he assured me that he was ignorant of the likeness of his
Egerton Bompas in The Times to a well-known newspaper
proprietor. It was dog eating dog when Willie Edouin
" took off " Augustus Harris in Our Flat, and history re-
peating itself when, at Chelsea lately, a sketch introducing
half the Government was suppressed.

Sir Arthur Pinero has a clever drawing by Frank Lockwood ,
recording and forgiving an accidental likeness to a member
of his family, I think in The Cabinet Minister.

152

CHAPTER XXII

ONE-HORSE SHOWS

Some Popular Entertainers — Cheer, Boys, Cheer — "Protean"
Artists — Henry Irving as a Spiritualist — Frederick Maccabe —
Death in the Workhouse

WITH the recent death of Barclay Gammon a
long line in the succession of " entertainers "
is broken. Miss Margaret Cooper, the Clapham
music teacher who took one step to celebrity, may be con-
sidered , ' ' with a difference. ' ' Mr Gammon curiously recalled
Comey Grain in appearance, in manner and in method —
but commanded ten times his fees. Grain would do a good
deal for a ten-pound note, having precautiously made his way
to his host's in overshoes, with the assistance of a bus. He
left but a modest fortune, though his death made a void, in
the affection of the public, as great as his own unwieldy form.
His mild and trivial humour, his extra-deliberate satire, his
ingenuous dogmatism, his invariable propriety made up a
pleasant and even fascinating personality. He would cari-
cature an old gentleman proposing the toast of the Queen
at great length, and then, with serious importance, remark,
as his biographer records, with unsmiling approval : " Would
it not be just as loyal, and much more satisfactory, if
chairmen were simply to rise and say : ' I give you the
toast of the Queen, God bless her.' "
No doubt Barclay Ganmion's frequent engagements at the

153

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

Palace Theatre, for which he got upwards of a hundred pounds
a week toward the end of his brief career, reacted upon his
" society " work, increasing the number of his engagements
and the amount of his fees. So, George Grossmith was an
entertainer on a very modest scale before he went to the Savoy.
When he became an entertainer again, with the cachet of
Gilbert and Sullivan, he quickly amassed five and twenty
thousand pounds. His unkindly boasting of his prosperity
provoked from Charles Brookfield, who could never make,
or keep, money, a cruel comment, in the Beefsteak Club :
" But, George, we don't all look so damned funny in evening
dress."

Foote, with his Afternoon Teas, at the Haymarket Theatre,
was probably the first of the entertainers. The elder
Mathews seems to have had uncanny skill in rapid and com-
plete disguises for his characters. Albert Smith deprecated
what he called the " ducking business " as exemplified in
Mr William Woodin's Carpet Bag. The artist would " duck "
behind his table to make the necessary change in his appear-
ance. Smith's own method in The Ascent of Mont Blanc
seems to have been preserved for us in Mr R. G. Knowles's
charmingly illustrated travel lectures. Henry Russell, a
splendid veteran, was quite a familiar figure in London of
the eighties, although he was singing Cheer, Boys, Cheer to
Crimean recruits. Russell composed the music ; the words
were by Charles Mackay, who adopted Marie Corelli, the
daughter of an old friend, educating her for a musician;
and who also lived, poor and blind, into his seventy-sixth
year. John Parry was the model of the Grossmiths, the
Cecils (for Arthur Cecil began his professional career in this
manner too), the Comey Grains. He enjoyed a tremendous

154

ONE-HORSE SHOWS

vogue, and is discussed by contemporary critics among the
most important musical and dramatic artists of the day.
His most famous song was :

" Wanted a governess, fitted to fill
The post of tuition with competent skill
In a gentleman's family highly genteel,
Where 'tis hoped that the lady will try to conceal
Any fanciful airs or fears she may feel
In this gentleman's family, highly genteel ! "

Dickens wrote Village Coquettes for Parry and his company.

Most of the early music hall performers tried the " enter-
tainment." It enabled them to appeal in Com Exchanges,
Assembly Rooms, and such like, to audiences that would not
dream of visiting music halls then. So Cowell, Mackney,
Vance, Arthur Lloyd, Harry Liston, and even Leyboume
went on tour. I have a vivid memory of Clarence Holt, who
used to do "a night with Shakespeare and Dickens" — Mr
Bransby Williams's method is somewhat similar. Holt's
good -night speech ended :

" Of their immortal plumage may
The feathers never moult.
Your kind applause give Shakespeare, Dickens,
Not forgetting Clarence Holt."

Vance, one recalls, used to work up a " swell " song with
the use of many handkerchiefs. Each, as it was lightly
used, was thrown away. On the last he paused. When he
opened it, it proved to be the Union Jack — no unworthy use
for that ; roars of applause ! And then, in an anticlimax of
sordid economy, a page boy would carefully collect the silk
or linen with which the stage had been recklessly strewn.

155

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

Husband and wife would work together, as Mr and Mrs
German (as Miss Priscilla Horton she had been an exquisite
Ariel), Mr and Mrs Howard Paul, Mr and Mrs Harry Clifton.
Two brothers, the Wardropers, utilised their likeness effect-
ively; and two sisters, members of the Robertson family,
whose tag was :

" Amid your kind applause we now retire.
Accept the grateful thanks of Annie and Sophia.'*

Some little time ago there was an outbreak of so-called
" Protean " art in the London music halls. I believe its
exponents were extremely well paid. Their leader, Fregoli,
had a good deal of ingenuity and skill. He was an ugly Jittle
wretch, who, like many Italians, spoke English worse each
day of his sojourning in our hospitable city. Other Protean
artists appeared in rapid fashion, till music hall programmes
became a tiresome procession of gibbering foreigners, who
leapt from one mask into another, out by this door, in at
that ; their characters were incompletely drawn, their antics
unintelligible.

Men with memories asked : "What has become of Frederick
Maccabe ? " and the answer proved to be that he was dying
in Liverpool Workhouse, from which he was rescued. The
facility with which not less than a dozen men whose name is
cut deep into the record of popular entertainment during
the Victorian era found this refuge is remarkable.

Maccabe was a Liverpool boy of Irish origin, whose first
professional work was to play the piano, on which he had
painfully acquired proficiency, in sheer love of music, at
dances and dinners. So he acquired many of the characters
which he afterwards depicted with such skill. Forty-mile

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ONE-HORSE SHOWS

walks between engagements were the healthy and not un-
happy experience of many a young artist in those days.

In the early sixties Maccabe was a stock actor at Man-
chester. So was Henry Irving, and the two men, as an out-
side adventure, took the local Athenaeum, where they gave an
entertainment designed to kill, by caricature, the spiritual-
istic pretensions of the notorious Brothers Davenport.
Maccabe soon found his mStier as an entertainer. He was a
skilful ventriloquist, and has left a treatise on the art ; he
had a useful facility with his pen in literary and musical
composition, could play many instruments, and would with
lightning rapidity change from a pompous after-dinner
speaker to a simpering girl at the piano, from a deplorable
street- whistler to a gay troubadour, all vivid and con-
vincing . Each sketch was a polished gem, and he could weave
four characters into a play as illusory and convincing as
though it employed four people. To tell Mr R. A. Roberts
that he comes next in one's estimation to Maccabe is not to
pay that brilliant artist a second-class compliment, but to
confer upon him the highest distinction that seems possible
now.

157

CHAPTER XXIII

EMPIRE-BUILDING

The All-Conquering Music Hall — Edward Moss's Boyhood — How a
Piano was procured — His Vast Fortune, and Early Death

IN the entertainment of the provinces, the growth in
popularity of the music hall has effected a complete
revolution. It has ruined most of the theatres. It has
killed the travelling circus. It has bereft a thousand Com
Exchanges, Town Halls, Mechanics Institutes of panoramas,
prestidigitators, Christy Minstrels — ^having absorbed them
all. There is now no town so small as to lack its Empire.
Large cities have a score of variety theatres.

In 1878 the evolution of the music hall had hardly begun.
The date is not written on my heart — rather it is cut into
my back. For at sixteen, just emancipated from a " mortar
board," and vainly dedicated to the profession of the law, I
thought I was old enough to visit a Palace of Varieties ; my
father thought I was still young enough to thrash !

Harry Rickards — "Great," of course — had sung of the
beautiful Cerulea. He sang also of " a virgin, just nineteen
years old," but her story is not for these pages. Vesta
Tilley, a celebrity in her teens, also appeared, and a curiously
versatile Frenchman, M. Trewey, mime, juggler, prestidigi-
tator, who revisited London some five and twenty years later
with the first cinematograph pictures. They were rejected
as a Sunday-school show, of ridiculous pretensions, finally
taken in at the Polytechnic Institution. Trewey, full of

158

EMPIRE-BUILDING

faith, told me I would live to see the cinema actually repro-
ducing an event on the stage within forty-eight hours. The
good fellow said hours — not minutes !

In the provinces the music hall grew quicker, or at any
rate more luxuriantly, than in London — though at Man-
chester it encountered terrible opposition, the Nonconformist
conscience possessing the local Bench. Still, Birmingham,
Liverpool and Glasgow soon had great pleasure palaces,
wherein the eventual " magnates " of the music hall world,
the Stolls, the De Freeces, the Barrasfords, graduated. Paul,
of Leicester, was a great " character," who gave immense sums
to charity. He habitually addressed his audience on Saturday
night, in laudation of his company. Feeling that he had gone
a little too far on one occasion, and tended to give the
artists too high an opinion of their worth, he added, in a
confidential way : " But I've got a crowd coming on Monday,
ladies and gentlemen, as can wipe the floor with this lot."
Oddly enough, the most important, or the most apparent
influence, came from Edinburgh.

For years James Moss adventured shows of all kinds, and
soon he found his son, Horace Edward Moss, a useful assistant.
The boy had a particular aptitude at music, and played the
piano for a " troupe " which had painful vicissitudes. The
Franco-German War of 1870-1871 brought about a change
in the fortunes of the Mosses. They concocted a panorama
which put them in possession of a little capital. And
still, they were careful. This advertisement proved most
attractive to the musical member of the firm :

" Glenburn Abbey — An old piano by Clementini in tolerably good
order for its age. Mr MacAlister will give it to any person who will
take it away.'-

159

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

A conveyance, fitting the circumstances, was procured ;
and the piano went into the Moss stock. Father and son
entered into possession of the Queen's Rooms, Greenock, and
transformed them into a music hall. They seemed on the
way to success when the landlord, enamoured of their ideas,
resumed possession, by virtue of a faulty lease. The con-
ventions of melodrama demand that he should fail. He did.
The Mosses got hold of another hall, this time at Edinburgh.
It was the Gaiety, but the fact that every student in the
University affectionately knew it as " Moss's " is a proof that
it was a success on homely lines. Long after its more active
director had given Edinburgh an Empire, he retained the hall
wherein he had laid the foundation of a vast fortune. He
associated himself with another enterprising impresario in
the north of England, Richard Thornton, and eventually with
Oswald Stoll, whose methods were probably too individual,
and who, after a time, withdrew from the coalition.

Meanwhile Moss had established his enterprise in the
heart of London. The Hippodrome, off Leicester Square, is
the base from which upwards of thirty other places of amuse-
ment are operated, in all parts of the kingdom, employing
a capital in excess of two million pounds. At fifty-seven, he
died in harness — ^long weary of work, if the truth must be
told. His domestic life had more than its share of sorrows.
Otherwise his career was successful, almost from the outset.
He had acquired an immense and beautiful estate in Scotland.
He had accumulated a vast fortune — nearly a quarter of a
million, and procured a title. A pleasure-loving man, there
is no doubt he had long desired to dissociate himself from
the business of popular entertainment, and to devote himself
to country life, and travel. Incidentally, the Hippodrome

i6o

EMPIRE-BUILDING

had been something of a disappointment. The belief that
the London pubhc was eager for a revival of the circus proved
to be unfomided. At any rate, it did not wax enthusiastic
m respect of a circus, plus an Empire ballet, plus an unvary-
ing water show, plus a variety entertainment. Time seems
to have solved this problem with the revue.

None the less, at the time of Mr Stoll's severance, the Moss
Empires were in the doldrums. The shareholders were
uneasy, but cherished a belief in the founder of the under-
taking. And so, with admirable good nature, he took the
helm again, and stuck to it, till painful illness seized him, and,
after no great while, bore him off. Sir Edward Moss was a
keen man of business. He showed capacity in many enter-
prises apart from the music hall ; business, no doubt, meant
to him primarily his own enrichment. But he had
pleasantry and charm. His was one of those cases in
which the manners of a gentleman had fallen gracefully
on a person of himible origin and roughish experience.

i6i

CHAPTER XXIV

NOTE S O R GOLD?

Failure of the Royal English Opera — Palace Theatre Flotation — Its
Early Struggles, and Eventual Profits — Living Pictures — And
one of Charles Morton

" T "T E built his soul a lordly pleasure house." With

I 1 unction the musical critics passed the quotation

-^ -^ round, when they inspected the Royal English
Opera House, dominating Seven Dials. It was meant to
establish English music ; to give London a theatre as nearly
perfect, from all points of criticism, as might be — in beauty,
in secure isolation, in equipment. As the late Mr D'Oyly
Carte, by the inspiration of Madam, was one of the most
astute men of business in his generation, or any other — ^he
died worth two hundred and fifty thousand poimds — I doubt
not the Royal English Opera House also enshrined other
intentions.

It opened on 31st January 1891, with Sir Arthur Sullivan's
opera, Ivanhoe. Artists of rare distinction were engaged, in
such a number that a different cast might be employed three
times within the week. Immediately after the one hundred
and fiftieth performance, Ivanhoe was withdrawn. The Opera
House had failed in its mission, as regards English music.
To France, then, for La Basoche, which an enthusiastic
critic declared to be "the best comic opera ever produced
in London." It did little better than Ivanhoe. So the

162

NOTES— OR GOLD

hospitality of the theatre was tendered to Sarah Bernhardt
for a season.

Poor EngHsh Opera House ! In Httle more than a year
they were bravely planning to raise a music hall out of the
debris of its ambitions. For this purpose a limited liability
company was formed, with the privilege of purchasing the
theatre, freehold and paraphernalia, for the equivalent of
two hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds.

Augustus Harris entered into the scheme with enthusiasm.
His energy was limitless. Drury Lane was the rock on
which he built his enterprise ; but it included Italian Opera,
in which, shouting at the chorus in four languages, he found
his greatest delight ; touring companies, the world over, with
melodrama, pantomime, grand opera, comic opera ; Olympia.
And he kept an eye on every detail. Hales, a Covent
Garden tradesman, specialised in the provision of animals for
theatrical productions — ^packs of hounds for Cinderella, horses
for Henry V., bulls for Carmen, sheep for Bo-Peep, and so on.
Harris was doing a Forty Thieves pantomime, for which he
needed a donkey. Sedger at the Lyric was doing La Cigale,
for which he also needed a donkey. Hales had a superior
and an inferior beast, and juggled with them a little.
Harris would return from the Continent, his eye all over
Drury Lane stage in an instant. " Where's that infernal
Hales " — ^his voice would ring through the theatre — " where's
that infernal Hales ? Sedger's got my donkey again ! "

Harris had a deep-rooted belief in his power to run a music
hall. He had cleared out of the Empire in a temper. He
found the notion of resuscitating the Palace fascinating.
Perhaps there was a touch of malicious pleasure in knocking
the bottom out of the Royal English Opera House. He

163

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

shaped a programme for the reopening, on 11th December
1892, which he supposed would revolutionise variety. It
included an Oriental ballet, The Sleeper Awakened, which was
actually the induction to The Taming of the Shrew, a little
tragedy called The Round Tower and an extravaganza by
Cecil Raleigh and " Jimmie " Glover, called London to Paris.
There were a few music hall artists ; but the effect of the
policy of other halls, in cornering popular favourites, was felt
keenly. It was a long time ere the Palace directorate awoke
to the fact that, to succeed, it must discover and exploit
interesting personalities.

Then the first manager of the Palace was oddly out of
place. Harris was doubtless anxious to pay a debt of old
friendship to a man who had done fine work in his time and
failed. The name of Charles Bernard will be fomid on the
old programmes of the Canterbury and the Oxford. He had
not a romantic appearance — short, thick-set ; an indispens-
able pince-nez surmounting a nose which an ardent love of
boxing had broadened- — but he had a beautiful voice, and
was a notable contributor to Charles Morton's operatic
selections. Then, for years, he was an active partner in the
control of Bernard and Vestris's Christy Minstrels, still
singing ballads. He became a power in the provinces, con-
trolling theatres at Manchester, Dublin, Glasgow and Carlisle,
and running companies with comic opera, and Shakespeare,
of which he was an erudite and tasteful producer. I believe
he claimed to have discovered Florence St John. It was
another discovery that brought him to grief. Neither his
strength nor his sympathies were with the Palace, from
which he retired, to die in Hanwell !

It was a whirligig indeed which brought Bernard's old

164

NOTES— OR GOLD

manager to the Palace as his successor. ]\Iorton's supremely
valuable asset was the public belief in his capacity and in his
luck. He was the figure-head of the Alhambra when it was
resuscitated ; again, of the Tivoli. Surely enough, when he
got to the Palace, things began to look up, though it has
remained for that brilliant young showman, Alfred Butt,
to bring the house to a monotonous routine of twenty
thousand pounds to profit per year. To think that Palace
shares have been quoted in pence !

Kilyany's Living Pictures marked the turn in the fortunes
of the house. And of them, a curious story is to be told.
There have been living pictures since the bad old days of
Leicester Square. But Kilyany, a Viennese, I think, did
them on an heroic scale — ^with perfect mechanism and
naughty daring, but with exquisite effect. Kilyany's
pictures were offered to the Alhambra, and contemptuously
declined by the manager of the moment. Popular imagina-
tion accredited Morton with securing them for the Palace.
But the joke is, they were the legacy, to his successors, of
Augustus Harris. On the night of their production Morton
stood in his accustomed place, at the back of the stalls, and
watched one study of " the altogether " to another succeed,
in terror. He cursed the living pictures, being sure there
would be trouble with the authorities. So there was ; but
it was not too serious for arrangement. Moreover, the
Prince of Wales, who had known Morton since Philharmonic
days, and permitted a good deal of familiarity, laughed at
his terrors and told him the pictures would be the making of
the house. Kilyany went to America and died.

Living pictures became a mania. Of course there was
no monopoly in the idea. Any stage carpenter of genius

165

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

could do the trick, and immediately there were living
pictures at every music hall in town and country. The
comic opera choruses were ranged for beauty, and some
of the best-laiown actresses of the day could, an they would,
confess to having aired their charms in these circTimstances.

Harris left to Morton, or the Palace, another legacy — a
genuine revue. Let that be scored up to his memory !
While we are on the subject of revues, the very first was con-
cocted by Mr Seymour Hicks and the late Charles Brookfield
— Under the Clock, for the Court Theatre. It was a full
generation before its time, and still infinitely superior to the
rubbish to which we have been habituated in the meantime.
But Brookfield's Pal o' Archie proved to be pretty poor stuff
for the delectation of the new Palace audiences.

It was many months ere the living pictures lost their
attractiveness, if they ever did. And, so far as the Palace
was concerned, another attraction was immediately forth-
coming— cinematograph pictures of curious excellence,
produced by a machine called the American Biograph.

Charles Morton was, in those days, and for several years, one
of the most familiar and respectable figures in London life.
He had the air of a strayed banker — a snow-white wig,
plentiful " mutton-chop " whiskers, a collar of the kind with
which Punch endowed Gladstone, but which Gladstone never
wore, a large bow-tie of shepherd's plaid, and an old-fashioned
frock coat. His energy was remarkable — ^an eight-o'clock
family breakfast in his suburban home was his insistence.
He was an early arrival at the Palace, and " finicky " in
business detail. He was obstinate in his views as to the
value of a performance, declaring that no individual was
worth more than a hundred pounds a week. No doubt he

i66

NOTES— OR GOLD

was morally right ; but the market would be fatally against
him nowadays. It is a pose of the modem music hall
manager never to be seen without a cigar in his mouth.
Charles Morton never smoked. He seemed to subsist on tea
and bread and butter, served to him at intervals, wherever
he might be in the theatre. His small allowance of whisky,
shared with an intimate friend, but respectfully declined from
any other source, was a nightly ritual. Then, he was nearly
the last man to leave the theatre, his only interest apart
from it being a love of horse-racing, very moderately en-
couraged, to the day of his death, at eighty-four. The events
of his life had left a provokingly slight impression on his
memory, as many a would-be recorder found.

His successor at the Palace was his long-time, watchful
assistant, Alfred Butt, a young accountant who arrived from
Harrod's in pursuit of his calling, and whose triumphant
career has been punctuated by the "discovery," in succession,
of such novel and attractive artists as sweet Rose Stahl, of
Walter C. Kelly, of Margaret Cooper, of Maud Allan and of
Pavlova. So comes the history of the Palace up to date.

167

CHAPTER XXV

FEVERISH FIRST NIGHTS

How a great Journalist died — The Marquis of Queensberry
on Marriage — Guy Domville — Actors'- Encounters with
Audiences — Poet and Painter fight — An Interview with Queen
Victoria

OFTEN within one's memory has the excitement
attendant upon a first performance been increased
by some unlooked-for incident. But that which was
most tragical escaped the notice of the audience, save of a few
— ^and they did not fully appreciate its force. Old friendship
for the parties more particularly concerned — the Bancrofts
especially, for whom, in a mistaken divagation to the stage,
he wrote their one failure. Tame Cats — in Hare's revival of
Money, at the Garrick Theatre, in 1894, was one of many
inducements to Edmund Yates to witness the performance.
He had been somewhat of an invalid, indeed, ever since his
shameful imprisonment, for loyalty to a contributor to The
World, the first of the society papers, as for years we knew
them, though not the first, really. I think that distinction
belonged to The Owl, and to Sir Algernon Borthwick.
Yates always professed to hate the style " society " paper.
As the theatre emptied after Money he was seen still sitting,
apparently in his stall. He proved to have had a seizure,
and to be helpless. He died at a neighbouring hotel, later
in the night.

i68

^

■^

FEVERISH FIRST NIGHTS

Yates was for years in the Post Office — the Civil Service
was the beginning of half-a-hundred popular journalists
and novelists of that time. He was a prolific writer for
magazines, and of popular fiction, and almost the first
journalist to give the personal touch to his records. For
this he incurred the enmity of Thackeray and lost his
membership of the Garrick Club. He was one of the most
engaging after-dinner speakers of our time ; an inspiring and
fastidious editor. And the genius of the editor is rare. I
have met it once in curious circumstances. If a deep hatred
of " the City " and its ideals were not in my blood — a sense of
unhappiness the instant and obstinate symptom produced by
its miasmic air — I could never have escaped the fascination
exercised during two years of Harry Marks. No soldier in
journalism could have an officer so concise and dependable in
command, so diplomatic and charming in personal contact,
so deft and simple in instruction, so cynically humorous in
criticism, so studiously and generously appreciative. Back
now to our first nights.

Never did Tennyson so completely prove that play- writing
was not his metier as in the case of The Promise of May,
which Mrs Bernard Beere produced at the Globe, in 1882.
uccesses he had had in the theatre, but it is an open
secret that his manuscript was freely and skilfully mani-
pulated at the Lyceum ; probably also at the St James's.
Nobody had a good word for The Promise of May. Almost
in his last hours, Tennyson recalled its first performance,
declaring that "They did not treat me fairly." Had the
play possessed any vitality the bold advertisement which
that curious person, the Marquis of Queensberry, gave it
might have procured it a longer run.

169

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

Tennyson's '' hero " justified a very sordid act of seduction
by the exposition of his views on marriage — ^he was an
agnostic, so styled. " Marriage ! " said he. " Well, when
the great democratic deluge which is slowly coming upon us,
and upon all Europe shall have washed away thrones and
churches, ranks, conditions and customs — ^marriage, one of
the most senseless, among the rest — ^why then the man and
the woman, being free to follow their elective affinities will
each bid the old bond farewell, not with tears but with smiles,
not with mutual recriminations but with mutual good wishes,
with no dread of the world's gossip and no necessity for
concealment ; and the children — ^well, the State will bring
up the children." And again, addressing his pretty prey:
"Marriage! That feeble institution! Child, it will pass
away with priestcraft from the pulpit into the crypt, into
the abyss. For does not Nature herself teach us that marriage
is against nature. Look at the birds — ^they pair for the season
and part ; but how merrily they sing ! While marrying is
like chaining two dogs together by the collar. They snarl
and bite each other because there is no hope of parting."

At the third performance of The Promise of May the
Marquis of Queensberry rose in his stall and protested. At
the end of the act he rose again, meaning to address the
audience at greater length, but he was gently removed. So,
in a little while, was The Promise of May. Years later, when
the Marquis of Queensberry was engineering the ruin of un-
happy Oscar Wilde, they went in mortal terror lest he should
create a disturbance at the St James's. He did not.

But the St James's Theatre contrived one all on its own
account on the first night of Mr Henry James's Guy Domville,
which the " popular " constituents of the audience fiercely

170

FEVERISH FIRST NIGHTS

hissed. There was an angry altercation between Sir George
Alexander and the gallery boys, which he continued, in
spite of their assurance that they " had nothing against
him." The parrot cry of organised opposition was raised,
and a newer one — that of unfriendliness to America ! Mr
Henry James has forgotten and forgiven anyhow, for he took
out papers of naturalisation the other day, for the deliberate
profession of loyal friendship and devotion to this country.
It is probable that few of the protestants against him appreci-
ated the literary distinction of the author — that any felt it
should affect their attitude towards his play, or stopped to
think of his nationality. They foimd the play distasteful,
and did no more than adopt their time-honoured method of
expressing their opinion. William Terriss, writing me about
this time, declared the right of the " popular " playgoer — in
his friendly mood avowed by managers to be the very prop
and mainstay of the theatre — ^to speak ill, as he spoke well.
" I have paid my good money," said Terriss as an imaginary
dissentient, " and I have a right to say frankly what I think
of what I get in return." The Guy Domville controversy
was carried on for weeks. The play had a career no longer.
Once only did Irving endanger that curious sense of amity
between him and his audience which always pervaded the
Lyceum — elsewhere, we have known a fashion of adulation,
or a vulgar homeliness of friendship, or the green-sick admira-
tion of the " matinee girl." The quiet communion between
Irving and the Lyceum audience was different ; so were his
speeches — the little pose of hesitancy, the generous sweep,
part hospitality and part appeal, of that wonderful hand, the
few suave sentences. There was an expression of anger from
the pit one night, a petulant retort from the actor : " There

171

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

is something here I do not understand to-night." Then
understanding came, in a flash of inspiration, that he had
made a mistake, and as quickly he repaired his error.

When Mortimer's adaptation of La Dame aux Camelias
was first done at the Princess's, as Heartsease, it was a failure,
though Modjeska afterwards procured it a certain vogue.
The audience hissed the original version. Sturdy old
William Rignold begged the protestants to remember that
they had wives, and sisters and daughters. His curious plea
was not in respect of Marguerite — but of Helen Barry, her
stage representative. It was allowed to pass. But when
G. W. Anson sought to play the pedagogue to the audience
which hissed Wilkie Collins's Rank and Riches at the Adelphi,
he exceeded its patience, and ten years' banishment to the
colonies was his fate — that is to say, he preferred the
Australian to the London stage for so long, though his re-
ception, when he reappeared at the Court Theatre, in G. W.
Godfrey's Parvenu, showed that his error had been completely
forgotten — if ever it had been seriously held in remembrance.

James Albery lost his head badly when Jacks and Jills
was hissed at the Vaudeville in 1880, and I think on that
occasion, coined that blessed phrase, " organised opposition."
When Where's the Cat, adapted by the same author, was
badly received, a little later, at the Criterion, Sir Charles
Wyndham, always willing to break a lance in such a cause,
affected to believe that the audience was still vindictive
towards Albery, and apologised for him, an act which Albery
angrily repudiated.

It is difficult for the lay mind to grasp the importance of
a simple scenic effect, say to a Drury Lane melodrama, when
an ill-oiled wheel will rob of its effect a sensation which might

172

FEVERISH FIRST NIGHTS

mean a fortune ; or, do worse — reveal a simple subterfuge
and make the whole ridiculous. In Straihlogan, a good,
average melodrama done at the Princess's, there was a whirl-
pool. Had it worked, it would have been a town's talk.
But it stuck ; we saw a heroine who had been flung into a
torrent sitting on a sordid, wooden wheel. It needed oil, or
the stage hands needed oil. It hopped, and skipped, and
stood still again — ^always a wheel. The audience shouted
with laughter. Scott saw the text for a funny column in
The Telegraph : and the play was ruined.

Probably the most amusing first-night row within the
memory of modem playgoers is that which occurred after the
performance of The Coquette at the Prince of Wales's Theatre
in the spring of 1899. Hans Lowenfeld then directed that
theatre. He is a Czech, with a genius for figures. He ran
one big bucket shop after another, and became rich. He tried
to make another fortune on the side by the exploitation of a
temperance drink which it was declared no toper could dis-
tinguish from ale. As no one ever drank enough of it to make
a fly drunk, we are still without a valuable opinion in confirma-
tion of Hans (or Henry) Lowenfeld's. His attitude towards
the drama was conceived in the spirit of that of the late
Henry Brougham Farnie. It is projected in Les Conies
Marines. Not satisfied with the reception of The Coquette,
Lowenfeld appeared before the curtain and expressed his
determination to " have it out " with the " dissentient
voices," as the reporters call them, in the gallery. He
reviled them, and got his own back. Then there was a saving
inflection of humour in the interchange. Lowenfeld, with,
I suspect, a little blood other than Czech in his veins, in a
piteous voice, disclosed the cost of The Coquette, and who

173

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

should know better ? There was a kind of handshake across
the foothghts, and it was all over.

Of another amusing scene at the theatre I was curiously
the immediate receptacle of the opposing accounts. During
an entr^acte of Pettitt's A Million of Money, at Drury Lane, in
the autunm of 1890, there was a collision between " Jimmy "
Whistler and Augustus Moore, at that time editing The Hawk,
which naturally got a page of vivacious paragraphs out of
the incident. Moore declared that Whistler, whom he
described with minute insolence, cried : " Hawk ! Hawk !
Hawk ! " touched him with a tiny cane, and was promptly
knocked down. Friends intervened. Moore returned to his
stall, and Whistler retired. So much for Moore's version.

Whistler made his way to the office of The Sunday Times,
being an intimate of the staff of that day. He certainly
bore no evidence of having been knocked down — ^nothing
showed signs of damage but his stick. He declared that he
had reproached Moore with an attack on the memory of his
dead friend — Godwin, the architect, whose widow he married
— and that he got in two smashing blows. Indeed, I do not
think either was a penny the worse.

Robert Buchanan, who had the habit of borrowing play-
material from great folk, then, reviling his benefactors — ^he
called Fielding " a dirty old ruffian," I believe — ^resentfully
told me that when he was writing Dick Sheridan he bought a
volume of Sheridan's Bon Mots, and was forced to the conclu-
sion that the misrepresented wit had left him little material
for dialogue. Certainly the Sheridan of the play was a very
dull dog. But how many men, according to their contem-
poraries brilliant and spontaneous, have been ungenerous to
posterity ! We have about half-a-dozen threadbare stories

174

^^n

FEVERISH FIRST NIGHTS

of H. J. Byron, for instance ; fewer of Whistler — ^whom I
suspect to have been painfully elaborate in impromptu.
From time to time he would present himself at The Sunday
Times office with the intention of contributing one of his
letters to the editor. We kept the famous butterfly
signature in stock. He would be enclosed in a room for
hours, and emerge with twenty lines. The floor one would
find knee-deep in spoiled sheets. Whistler was at that time
deeply interested in a little paper called The Whirlwind, but
it was short-lived.

Of The Hawk — its story has been told a hundred times —
I would merely say that it is a poor monument of Moore's
genius. He was a brilliant journalist — ^none thought of him
more highly than Edmund Yates, and who should be a
better judge ? Moore had education, a curiously tenacious
memory, the knack of vivid, interesting narrative, a tender
fancy and a correct style in verse. He could be a charming
companion and a loyal friend. It is fate that links his
memory with The Hawk — ^an obsession of mischievousness
and savagery that represented but six years' work in a career
extending over thirty. His proudest achievement was an
interview with Queen Victoria, which appears in The World
at the time of her Diamond Jubilee. To have written a
" Celebrity at Home " for The World was the cachet of every
journalist engaged in these exercises in intrusion. Yates did
the first few himself, to set a style, which he insisted on as
a model — it was perfect, in its extent and in its limitations.
There must be so much topography, so much biography, so

uch portraiture. When the Prince of Wales was approached
for a sitting he agreed, feeling so safe. Dr " Billy " Russell
was the operator.

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FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

Queen Victoria, of course, was never personally approached.
But Moore had half-a-score of note-books on the personalities
and environment of the great, besides the inexhaustible pigeon-
holes of his brain. He had a genius for creating an atmos-
phere. And his most unfriendly colleague — Heaven knows
how he made so many of them, unless it was by injudicious
loans — ^was bound to admit the ingenuity and gripping interest
of the result.

Robert Buchanan was a brutal critic, and seemed to love
a quarrel. He was, in fact, a generous-hearted and lovable
man. For dramatic critics in general, and for Clement Scott
in particular, he avowed bitter contempt. At the invitation
of his collaborator, Harry Murray — ^my oldest colleague, I
think, in London journalism — I attended the last performance
of A Society Butterfly, by Mrs Langtry, at the Opera Comique,
on the mysterious promise of a sensation. Buchanan
appeared before the curtain and uttered a wild attack on
Scott, in the hope that it would lead to an action for libel,
but it fell flat.

There have been these outbursts impugning the good faith
of criticism throughout the history of the stage. Mr Arthur
Boiu'chier, in the early days of his management at the Garrick,
set his hand to the work of an imagined reform. By the hand
of his manager he circulated a statement of his intention to
have no more first-night notices. He would appoint a later
night for the attendance of the recorders. And soon he
circulated, in his very own handwriting, a very charming note
of withdrawal from a contest that had proved imequal.
" They can't do without ulh" said Mr Sleary.

176

CHAPTER XXVI

SOME EDITORS

A Famous Philanderer — Practical John Hollingshead — His Gaiety
Confession — The Marquis de Leuville — Augustus Harris and
Literature — Edward Ledger as Lucullus

WHAT a curious menage was that of The Sunday
Times, in the days of the Whistler visitations !
Its editor was the late Phil Robinson, who had
persuaded a charming lady, his fellow-passenger on a home-
ward voyage from Australia, to devote, to the purchase of the
paper from the Fitzgeorges — the children, by a morganatic
marriage with a famous ballet dancer, of the Duke of Cam-
bridge— a few of the thousands she had romantically made
out of a gold mine. Robinson rarely visited the office,
preferring to encourage his fellow-members of the Savage
Club in steeplechases round the dining-room, which caused
the conmiittee grave concern. His reputation mainly
rested on a book called My Indian Garden. I heard him
accept, without a hint of humorous qualification, the
assurance that he was " the greatest naturalist since Oliver
Goldsmith."

Fourteen members of the Savage formed the staff of The
Sunday Times, each being appointed Editor of his Department,
with orders to act independently, but especially to disregard
the imhappy acting editor. Sometimes the paper was in-
teresting ; sometimes it seemed to lack homogeneity. It was
M 177

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

generally very late in arrival at the press-room. Acting
charades was a diversion not unknown to Saturday night.

On one of Phil Robinson's rare editorial visits to the office
he brought an important paragraph :

" We are informed that Mr Augustus Fitzbattleaxe has been
appointed editor of The West End Wit, but as our informant
is Mr Fitzbattleaxe there is certainly not a word of truth
in the statement."

Probably my persuasion, long continued, till it secured the
omission of the paragraph, saved our proprietress much
trouble. But the story soon travelled, and lost me the
friendship of Fitzbattleaxe, who furiously protested that
we " might comfortably have cut up a thousand " had I
connived at the libel and an eventual action. Cutting up
thousands imder similar conditions has reduced poor Fitz-
battleaxe to the gutter now.

In early life Phil Robinson had written a thousand or so
leading articles for TJie Daily Telegraph, all which had been
carefully pasted on sheets of foolscap for him and pigeon-
holed. His theory was that the calendar suggested an article
every day, for a term of years — " Oyster season begins " ;
" St Swithin's Day " ; " Charles I. beheaded, 1649," and so on.
And he just used his erudite and charming essays over and
over again, bestowing no pains on their correction. So we
frequently received, at The Sunday Times office, letters of
angry remark, caused by his citation of people dead since the
original publications — for instance, he would write, of some
viveur in the shades, " Jolly old So-and-So presided, as he
has done for years."

Sir Edwin Arnold wrote :

178

SOME EDITORS

" Dear Phil, — I always read your delightful articles in
The Sunday Times, often feeling that I recognise an old
friend ; to-day, a near relation indeed. The Lieutenant
seems (see enclosed) to have bagged spoil appertaining to
the Ancient. Yours, E. A."

The keeper of Robinson's scrapbook had carelessly included
a few specimens of the work of other contributors to The
Telegraph, and he had on this occasion reproduced an article
of his old editor's.

Robinson vainly sought to establish half-a-dozen papers.
Most vivacious was The Cuckoo, a daily-evening imitation
of The World. Phil read the proofs of the last issue on the
ledge of the fountain in the Temple. The brokers had locked
him out of the office — for once, he had not recognised their
indulgence with the punctiliousness they expected of an old
friend. Phil Robinson could be as vicious as he was charming.
Henry Murray's best novel, A Song of Sixpence, appeared
in The Sunday Times, in instalments, and if on occasion
Murray had not proved amenable to Robinson's interminable
demands on his friendship, a proof of the week's feuilleton
would be called for and elaborately decorated with the
editorial blue pencil before the suffering eyes of the novelist.
An occasional visitor to the office of The Sunday Times
was John Hollingshead, whom I got to know extremely well.
He was then nearing seventy, broken in fortune but vigorous
in health, back to the calling of his youth, when he was a
careful and much esteemed member of Dickens's staff on
Household Words. His hair was plentiful and white ; his
complexion florid, his dress scrupulously neat — ^the cleanest-
looking old man I ever encountered. He would take a
■| 179

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

commission for an article, make definite arrangements as
to terms, and bring back, to the minute, the exact amount
of manuscript agreed upon, in his own neat handwriting.
I beHeve that in his largest undertakings he had never
employed assistance, mechanical or other, in his correspond-
ence, and rarely made a written contract. When he did so,
it had mostly led to a misunderstanding, otherwise unknown.
He used to utter strong opinions in a high-pitched voice —
and that expresses his literary method too.

HoUingshead could surely have written a profoundly
interesting volume of reminiscences. He preferred a saltless
hotchpotch of dates and instances, declaring to his intimates
that his life has been devoid of scandalous experience — even
at the Gaiety — and that, at any rate, it would be a point of
honour with him, to the end, to make no " revelations."

One Sunday in the country, as we set out for a drive, he
hammered at the closed door of a public-house, demanding
an unneeded pint of ale. When it was refused he uttered a
set speech against the licensing laws. Farther along he
hammered at the door of a hairdresser and asked to be
shaved, though he had scraped a velours before we set out.
Another refusal, another diatribe against Sunday observance.
John felt that he had now fulfilled his obligations to society,
and for the rest of the day was a pleasant and charming
companion.

Once, in a restaurant, HoUingshead asked the German
proprietor to tell him the composition of a dish. The man
"didn't know." Said HoUingshead, rather angrily: "But
you sell it." " Ja, Ja," was the reply, " I sell lots of moock
dot I don't eat." John softened to a smile. " I ran the
Gaiety on those lines for twenty years," he agreed. He was

i8o

SOME EDITORS

always harping on the more distinguished plays which
alternated with burlesque there, and almost ignored, for his
personal entertainment, some of his lighter productions.
Once, in his office, Charles Collette spoke of the " damned
bad play " then current. " The damned good play," cor-
rected HoUingshead. " I don't believe you've really seen it,
governor," Collette ventured. "You're quite right," said
HoUingshead ; " but I've seen to-night's returns."

Still he was very sensitive behind his cynicism, and when
W. S. Gilbert once spoke in pity of the authors who had to
'' write down to the level of a Gaiety audience " HoUingshead
retorted that Gilbert must be held to have set that level, since
he wrote the first Gaiety burlesque. It was Robert the Devil.

A persistent Sunday Times caller was the Marquis de
Leuville, a weird creature of whom rumour said that he
had been an assistant at Truefit's. Certainly his oiled and
curled hair and beard gave colour to this story. He was
undoubtedly the favourite of a very wealthy widow, pre-
vented by the terms of her husband's will from marrying
again. She had bought her faithful servant the title of
]^Iarquis, from goodness knows where, and Wardour Street
had been ransacked to fill his chambers with articles of
bigotry and virtue. Here he used to entertain lavishly.
Willie Wilde, a clever, witty, fascinating man, who was
overshadowed by his brother's fame, and eventually over-
whelmed by his disgrace, would often lead the revel. De
Leuville wrote preposterous poetry, then made a round of
the newspapers till he could hire one to print his trash. He
left in his trail a scent of attar of roses, which for days would
even overcome that faint odour of putrid paste inseparable
from the room of every sub-editor earnestly employed.

i8i

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

Augustus Harris was the next owner of The Sunday Times,
with Willing, the advertising agent, for his partner. Willing
at one time had a mania for putting his name to plays which
John Douglass, of the Standard Theatre, really wrote and
produced. Willing became so casual, in this respect, that
in the earlier hours of a first night bold spirits would pin him
to the wall in the bar, and defy him to describe the course,
say, of the third act.

Harris's purchase of The Sunday Times was not uncon-
nected with his own play- writing. He wrote a series of articles,
which duly appeared in the paper, and of which the manu-
script was carefully preserved as a proof, in case of need, of
his ability to write, should dramatic authors, for instance,
ever seek to maintain that he did not take a very active
part in the construction of the plays to which he always
insisted on attaching his name as part author, taking his
proportion of the fees.

He certainly did suggest much of the incident in the Drury
Lane dramas. His secretaries would suddenly be called upon
to take notes of plots that might have filled the dimensions
of a Chinese tragedy. He teemed with ideas, usually at the
wrong moment. In the roof of his Soho Square house, once
a convent, Charles Alias, the costumier, has a secret study,
a low-roofed, old-world apartment, where he puts on a velvet
thinking cap and secludes himself.

Plans for the Drury Lane pantomime hung fire one year.
Alias attacked the manager in a weak spot — breakfast-time,
at the Elms, his beautiful St John's Wood home. He begged
for instructions that would permit him to go ahead with the
pantomime. Harris, in his detached way, drew pictures on
the tablecloth, then, after an interval, said : " Do you know

182

SOME EDITORS

what I think of doing next year, Charlie ? " It was too much !
The costumier exploded. " Next year ! You say next year,
ha ? Well, say next year just once more, I go up to my top
room and, by God ! I never come down no more."

Harris's late breakfast was an amazing function — a city
dinner, in fact, designed to " make sure." His feeding till he
drove home again, at any hour in the morning, often with a
club companion commandeered to a picnic, was casual. At
one end of the huge dining-table were two or three secretaries,
feeding him with a precis of his vast correspondence, and
taking replies. A guest or two would share the other meal,
listening to his quick, interesting talk. In the drawing-room
an Italian tenor would wait a voice trial ; in the library a
scenic artist would tenderly guard a tentative model of a
transformation for possible approval, and possible metra-
gobolisation. And then he would drive away to the theatre,
arriving at three o'clock for a rehearsal which had probably
been called for one, and listening to a passionate love scene
the while an elderly lady was interviewing him for Fashions
and Foibles of the Fair.

Harris made a distracting editor — ^his alter ego being his
relative, Arthur a Beckett. There was a certain fitness in
the situation, for E. T. Smith, a previous manager of Drury
Lane, was a previous owner of The Sunday Times. But
Harris had too many interests. He sold the paper, curiously
enough, to a woman again, Mrs Beere ; and his overdrawn
vitality failed soon after. Forty-four saw the great manager
on his death-bed.

One might write a volume of the vicissitudes of this sturdy
old newspaper. In the fifties the theatrical folk decided to
invite a Sunday paper to become their representative organ.

183

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

Choice lay finally between The Sunday Times and The Era.
The latter accepted the position, eliminated its general
and sporting news, and became the trade organ of the stage,
at first under the direction of Frederick Ledger, then of
his son, who sold it a few years ago, choosing the moment
with that exceeding shrewdness which characterised all his
actions. Sir William Bass gave a hundred (and a few odd)
thousand pounds for the property, and Mr Ledger retired to
the Gables, Hampstead — ^and to one of the finest collections
of armour in the world.

It used to be his annual custom to entertain the theatrical
celebrities of the day at dinner, and to commemorate the
occasion by some Lucullan freak. He once liad eighty straw-
berry plants carefully nurtured in pots, so that at dessert he
might say to his guests, each opposite a blooming strawberry
plant : ' ' Now, my dear friends — gather your own fruit. " The
service seemed slow. Ledger cried to his man : " Come,
come ! The dessert ? " " In a minute, sir ! " was the
reply. " They've nearly picked the strawberries.'''

184

CHAPTER XXVII

THE WESTMINSTER AQUARIUM

Church and Stage — Labouchere avS a Showman — Many Monsters —
Gymnastic Sensations — A Fight with the County Council —
M'Dougall

SOME curious assimilations of church and stage present
themselves to the student of popular entertainment.
Prior Raherus may be said to have sounded the note
of variety when he established Bartholomew Fair, as a kind
of charity bazaar, at the threshold of his priory, and took
up his old trade of a jesting juggler to help things along.
Certain historians of Westminster suggest that pilgrims to
k Becket's shrine bade farewell to frivolity at the Canterbury
Arms, which became the Canterbury Music Hall. The
South London Music Hall was once a Catholic chapel. The
Royal Music Hall, Holborn, absorbed a Methodist conventicle.
En revanche. General Booth made the old Prince of Wales's
Theatre into a Salvation hall ; likewise the Grecian Theatre
in City Road. The Surrey Theatre housed Spurgeon's flock
when his Tabernacle was burnt.

But is there any spectacle so quaint as that of the Wesleyan
Church House, built on the site of the Westminster Aquarium ?
For many years this dull and dingy glass house was pelted
with stones of moral reprobation, but still endured, to enjoy
a reputation for naughtiness wholly undeserved. The most
one could ever say of it was that it had the soporific effect of

185

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

the Crystal Palace without involving the most troublesome
railway journey known to the civilised world.

And yet, when one comes to think of it, the Westminster
Aquarium — ^its proper style was the Royal Aquarium and
Summer and Winter Garden, Westminster — ^has, on occa-
sions, provided thrilling experience. Its licence was con-
stantly in peril on account of the dangerously sensational
shows its management more and more affected. Still it is
remarkable there was never a serious accident here, though
some of the high divers contrived to kill themselves with
celerity when they went elsewhere. Men were buried alive,
and came up smiling. They starved for months, and
appeared to thrive on it. They were hanged by the neck
and suffered no inconvenience. They were petrified, boiled,
roasted ; they cycled down precipitous declines, dropped
hundreds of feet, and were no whit the worse.

It seems strange that such an establishment should have
been opened by a royal prince, with a proper surrounding of
the nobility, clergy and gentry. Yet so it was, just thirty
years ago, while half-a-million gallons of sea-water moaned
in its cavernous depths for fish that were never to come ; and
the untilled gardens cared not whether it was winter or
summer. A band which Arthur Sullivan recruited from the
four corners of the earth, singers headed by Sims Reeves,
an Art Exhibition organised by Millais, failed to attract. It
is on record that the first entertainment in which the public
displayed the slightest interest was that given by a French
juggler and mime, Monsieur Trewey — ^not forgetting the edify-
ing exhibition personally provided by the directorate, which
quarrelled furiously, and continued to do so till the Aquarium
and Summer and Winter Garden closed its doors for ever.

i86

THE WESTMINSTER AQUARIUM

Wybrow Robertson and Henry Labouchere, the actual
promoters of the concern, were the plaintiff and defendant
respectively in an action for libel. Labouchere won, but
Robertson (who was the husband of beautiful Marie Litton)
was more successful in retaining the management of the
show, which he reconstituted, with Barnum for his model
and G. A. Farini for his adviser. Farini was in early life a
brilliant gymnast. He crossed Niagara on a tight rope, in
succession to Blondin. He headed a wonderful party of
aerial performers in the early days of the Alhambra ; and
he invented Lulu, a lovely girl, apparently, who was shot
from a spring pedestal to a lofty platform. For years the
secret was kept — ^till the sensation was quite worn out, in
fact. Then Lulu stood revealed, a well-bearded youth, who
was last heard of as a prosperous photographer in San
Francisco.

In like manner Zazel, Farini's first contribution to the
welfare of the Aquarium, was shot from a cannon. There was
a frenzied outcry — it may have been from a genuinely horrified
public, or it may have been from the advertising department
of the Aquarium — to the Home Office, and Mr Secretary Cross
wrote to the manager warning him that he would be held
responsible for any accident to Zazel. Within twenty-four
hours London was placarded with Mr Cross's letter, and with
Mr Wybrow Robertson's reply, in which he united to his
assurance that there was no danger, an invitation to the
Home Secretary to come and be shot up at his convenience,
and so satisfy himself. Not being Mr Winston Churchill,
the Home Secretary ignored the invitation, although in
truth there was little danger in Zazel's performance if the
apparatus did its work, which ^as very simple.

187

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

Farini got a large fee, Zazel but a small one. She assumed
the time-honoured prerogative of the prima donna, and
threatened to walk out of the theatre. Farini finessed, and
in secrecy prepared four Zazels in separate suburbs, all ready
to replace the recalcitrant beauty at a moment's notice.

Farini was something of an ethnologist too. He showed a
group of Zulus, a groujD of Laplanders, another of what he
called " earth men " and a hair-covered girl whom he dis-
tinguished from the common or garden " bearded lady " of
Ratcliffe Highway by describing her as " Darwin's Missing
Link," impudently challenging scientific discussion of what
is not an unusual phenomenon, and may be acquired for a
moderate figure through any of the theatrical papers. Krao
was one of the few " freaks " who contrived to secure a share
of her earnings. She now lives in New York, well-to-do and
well-educated. When Farini retired from business, having
made a comfortable fortune, he devoted himself to gardening,
and became an authority on the begonia. But the Klondyke
gold rush was too much for him and off he went again.

Meanwhile the Aquarium perfunctorily remembered its
educational mission. It exhibited a primitive telephone.
It managed awhile to keep " the only Gorilla alive in
captivity" — ^Pongo of blessed memory. But it killed two
unhappy whales. One does not recall that the " Talking
Walrus " recited passages from Alice in Wonderland, though,
of course, he should have done so. Most of the " Educated
Seals " graduated from the Aquarium, which set the fashion,
too, in boxing kangaroos.

Manager to manager succeeded — ^to Mr Wybrow Robertson,
Captain Hobson, who instituted the swimming exhibitions
so long a feature of the Aquarium programme, and billiard

i88

THE WESTMINSTER AQUARIUM

tournaments ; to Captain Hobson, Mr De Pinna, who spread
himself on pugihsts ; to Mr De Pinna, Captain JMolesworth,
whose term was distinguished by the advent of Sandow, and
by the Zoeo incident.

Strong men there have been from time inamemorial in the
world of popular entertainment. But they were held to be
vulgar ; they had one foot in the fair and one in the circus
ring. The music hall looked at them a little askance, even
in its unregenerate days. Sampson, who arrived at the
Aquarium some time in 1889, was a smart, gentlemanlike little
man, who got a certain vogue in the Bohemian set. To him
certainly is due the position of the " strong man " to-day as
an accepted and highly paid artist — ^with Sandow's super
growth into a company promoter and quasi-physician I am
not concerned. Sampson was a brilliant and accomplished
artist, who bade fair to achieve a distinction in his sphere.
But he was criminally careless. His dramatic defeat by the
unknown Sandow might have been retrieved. But the too
fascinating strong man was immediately involved in a scandal
which involved his ruin. Nothing is so certain as that
Sampson believed his challenge, delivered from the Aquarium
stage, would fall on the air, or at any rate be accepted by some
inefficient adventurer. His possibly dangerous rivals were
known, and their absence was noted. Otherwise the stage
would have been differently set, as every showman — ^not now
to discourse of the tricks of this trade — ^knows. What a
dramatic scene was that when young Sandow, in evening
dress, sprang lightly from his box, held Sampson to his
challenge, walked away with all the honours, and continued
his triimiphant progress to heights undreamed of.

Soon afterwards the Zceo sensation occurred. There is

189

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

no doubt the unhappy lady, absolutely devoid of offence,
was made the occasion of an outcry by persons with ulterior
objects. The Aquarium had already got a particular reputa-
tion, and year after year, at the meeting of the London
County Council to consider licences for places of popular
entertainment, the fury of the battle raged around the
Aquarium. Its licence had already been decorated with
admonitions and reservations — illegally, it may be, but
effectively — ^when the Zoeo affair occurred. The idea of the
" purity " party seems to have been to forge, in Midsummer,
a weapon which it might employ months later. And in this
it succeeded.

Zoeo, a good-looking young woman of five and twenty,
trained in the circus from childhood by Harry Wieland, whom
she afterwards married, was a versatile and accomplished
artist — a graceful dancer and skilled gymnast, but particu-
larly an aerial performer of great daring. Her Aquarium
bonne bouche was a backward somersault, and fall, from a
great height to a net. For her advertisement a poster was
employed, an enlargement of her photograph in the attire
accustomed of a gymnast. Such pictures have been exhibited
in hundreds before and since. But The Standard was induced
by the Central Vigilance Society for the Suppression of Vice
to open a correspondence, which increased in violence and
bitterness. An application was most ingeniously made by
the Vigilance Society to Sir John Bridge at Bow Street, but
he shook his head and declared that he could not move till
the police complained, and the police were silent. Sir John,
bored by persistent applications, asked the Aquarium people
if they thought the poster worth the fuss. They did. Next
the Rev. Hugh Chapman invited the London County Council

190

THE WESTMINSTER AQUARIUM

to condemn the poster by resolution. But the chairman
peremptorily ruled such business out of order, and Zoeo sailed
along complacently till the licensing session, when the storm
broke out with the stored-up violence of months. An inter-
national crisis could not have engaged such eagerness of
journalism. To the poster a new consideration was added.
Someone suggested that the gymnast suffered from shocking
excoriation, the result of her contact with the net, in her fall.
There was a solemn deputation of County Councillors to the
Aquarium, soon satisfied that this statement was untrue.
But the incident raised a chorus of ridicule. Sancti-
monious creatures eyeing Zoeo's back filled the comic papers,
to the deep annoyance of the amiable and exemplary gym-
nast. The interest of Parliament was stimulated. But
the Aquarium was brought into submission. Captain Moles-
worth, ere he got his licence, was fain to promise that he would
use no more of the posters — ^he got what consolation he could
out of the addendum that he could not if he would, having
exhausted the stock.

There is one party to the agitation to whom, at any rate
in his attitude on the question of popular entertainment,
justice has never been done. " M'Dougall " became, nearly,
a dictionary word. Ridicule was poured on the good man
by every flippant reporter and every comic singing clown.
Sir John M'Dougall was, no doubt, imbued by the qualities
of his race and of his creed, but he was never the intolerant
opponent of decent recreation. He was confronted with an
evil. He fought it fairly and squarely, under a cross fire of
misunderstanding. The music hall of to-day is vastly better
for his discipline. And still, its best friend cannot allow it
to have perfection, even in its distant view.

191

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

Captain Molesworth's tenure of office was not long, after
the Zoeo business. He was succeeded by Mr Josiah Ritchie,
who had money in the concern and was of a disposition to
watch it. He had made a comfortable fortune out of artificial
teeth, being the pioneer of the Complete Set for a Guinea.
But he applied himself to the Aquarium with extraordinary
zest and aptitude, cultivating the huge moustache and
sombrero of the American showman — ^though he was a small
person^ — ^practising the most trivial economies and keeping
the Aquarium alive for ten years, by sometimes the most
desperate expedients, till he brought the Methodist deal to
an issue ; a queer, unforgettable figure.

192

CHAPTER XXVIII

CONCERNING CHORISTERS

Antiquity of the Show Girl — The First " Professional Beauty " — The
Gaiety Stage Door — Erudite Chorus Girls — Training a Dancer —
From the Chorus Room to Fame

THERE are in London some three thousand young
women who probably describe themselves as
actresses, and who, in varying degrees, really depend
upon the theatre for a livelihood. They provide the decorative
background of the stage ; but they are capable of many sub-
divisions— dancers, singers, extra ladies and show girls are
some. Many of these girls have a definite and laudable
ambition, industry and courage. Not more than two-thirds
of them can command regular work. Their salaries range
from eighteen shillings a week — at which rate, I regret to say,
it is possible to engage a trained dancer — ^to five pounds,
which in rare cases is given to a " show girl," a young woman
of conspicuous beauty and style, whose appearance — silent,
immobile and expressionless — in a revue or a musical comedy
commands a steady sale of five or six stalls a night. This is
technically laiown as Mademoiselle's " following," or trade
capital.

Among the show girl's occupations extraneous to the theatre
is that of sitting to photographers. A pretty and well-known
woman will make as much as two hundred pounds a year
by this means — a curious contrast to the experience of poor

N 193

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

little Maud Branscombe, the first stage beauty to appeal
to the photographer as a vendible article. Evelyn Rayne,
now a charming matron at Brighton, Mrs Langtry and Mrs
Cornwallis West were other shop-window celebrities of the
time, for whose category the phrase, " professional beauty,"
was coined. Maud Branscombe's photographs must have
been sold by the million, not only as likenesses, but in all
kinds of advertising combinations. She was the " Nun
nicer" of a tooth paste. She clung to a cross for "The
Rock of Ages."

Lydia Thompson satirically sang :

" I've been photographed like this,
I've been photographed like that,
I've been photographed 'mid falling snow —
In a large and furry hat.
I've been photograph-ed standing —
With my hands behind my back,
But I never have been taken
like a raving maniac."-

Maud Branscombe assured me that she never got a penny
piece in respect of her photographs. I met her no great while
ago — still a delicate, innocent-looking bit of china.

Hollingshead recognised the show girl as a factor of the
Gaiety in a frank and characteristic way. With his own
hand he wrote, and affixed to the stage door, the notice :
" Ladies drawing less than twenty-five shillings a week are
politely requested not to arrive at the theatre in broughams."
But the show girl was already an institution. Macready
is credited with a moral reflection on her furs. And Dickens
knew her. " What's the legitimate object of the drama,
Pip ? " said the Viscount. " Human Nature ! " " What
are legs ? " " Human Nature ! " " Then let us have plenty

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CONCERNING CHORISTERS

of Human Nature, Pip ; and I'll stand by you, my buck ! "
True to his compact, the Viscount has " stood by " ever since.
But " there are degrees " in Viscounts too. Doubtless the
late Lord Alfred Paget was the most deliberately economical
patron of the lighter side of the stage it ever knew. He
is said to have stocked himself, for souvenirs, with simple
jewellery from Birmingham, at wholesale prices. It was not
Lord Alfred who presented one of the sultanas with a price-
less set of silver sable. She was asked by her companions
how she had spent the day. " Oh ! " was the reply, " those
furs the Duke gave me were full of grey hairs ; and Vve been
picking them ouV Lord Alfred Paget having been a
privileged visitor to the earlier Gaiety was, with others,
scheduled by George Edwardes, for diplomatic repression
by the late Charles Dundas Slater, who, from his seat in the
box-office, controlled a door leading forth to the stage. It
was suddenly locked, and Slater protested to Lord Alfred
that he had not got the key. After an absence of a few days
the old reprobate returned, and, flinging a brace of freshly
shot rabbits on the ledge of the box-office, he cried : " There,
my lad ! Now what about that key ? "

Rabbits or no rabbits, the door of the Gaiety has been
opened pretty freely to the peerage, for there have been no
fewer than twenty-three formal marriages of minor actresses
to men of title in as many years.

Sometimes these marriages have grim sequels. There was
a famous beauty of the stage, twenty-five years ago, who
married a man of title, and was disposed to live decently and
happily with him. His family was utterly irreconcilable,
spirited the consumptive, dissipated wretch away, and
harassed the unhappy wife till she consented to the arrange-

195

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

ment of a divorce, in the particular respect of which she was
indubitably innocent. But her life thereafter may not be told.

When the Gaiety company was first remitted to America
and Australia, the utmost difficulty was experienced in
persuading the show girls to leave London. Double wages
would hardly tempt them to forsake the mysteriously bene-
ficial employments extraneous to the theatre they had in
London. In the event, about twenty per cent, of them
made brilliant marriages abroad. Some of the girls had
very vague ideas about America. The manager lost a party
of them on the elevated railway. Working back to the
station of origin, he found them huddled together like a
flock of frightened sheep. He reproached them with not
having the sense to ask their way. " Ask the way indeed,"
said an angry dame. "Why, there isn't one of us can
speak the language."

What she supposed the language to be, deponent sayeth
not ; but we once encountered a Gaiety girl who spoke
French, German and Spanish indiscriminately. Her father
was a distinguished clergyman of the Anglican Church ;
and she eventually married an officer in the Guards.
Another guest at this joyous supper-party was a Girton girl.
Another was a sumptuous creature whose father dug graves
at Kensal Green, and whose pet name, in the disrespectful
dressing-room, seeing that she tended to obesity, was
" Greasy Grace." It is an incomparably cosmopolitan
community, drawn from every class of society, high, low
and intermediate, accomplished and illiterate. Many of its
members are attracted by nothing but an inordinate love of
dress. The musical comedies of to-day are a very debauch
of finery, the show girl in stage panoply being worth, say, a

196 /

CONCERNING CHORISTERS

hundred pounds as she stands. It was characteristic of the
George Edwardes method that in order to secure a faultless
ensemble, the stage beauty was not merely provided with outer
garments, but underwear, corsets and boots — even coiffure.

As a rule the show girl is absolutely devoid of ambition,
although in rare instances she has refused to be the slave of
her environment. If she believes she has an aptitude for
the stage, and expresses a desire to get on, she must prepare
for a sacrifice. The revelation of brains instantly subjects
her beauty to a heavy discount. She ceases to be a show
girl, and is re-rated as a minor actress, at, say, two pounds
a week. There is a capital story of a well-known author
who, having introduced the character of a chorus lady to
a comedy, thought it would save trouble and produce a
greater effect if the real article were employed. " I say,
guv'nor," said the confident lady, "do you want me to be
larky or ladylike in this part ? " In an inspired moment
the author said : " Oh ! be very ladylike, my dear ! " The
result was indescribably comical.

There is no more respectable type of a working woman
than the trained dancer. Her wages range from eighteen to
thirty shillings a week, for which she must work hard. Her
graduation is a laborious apprenticeship, from childhood —
this system, effective in the achievement of technique, though
it was unkind, and materially unjust, is making for desuetude.
She must devote a part of each day to practice. At night
she must report herself sober and competent. Shortly after
eleven you may see her at Charing Cross waiting for the
Brixton bus. To her, the Savoy is a shadow, and Romano's
a romance. She is the sedate, painstaking artisan of the
stage, with her sick clubs, and her boot clubs, and all the

197

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

petty prudences of the working class. She sees in the " show
girl " the incomprehensible creature of another world, who
toils not neither does she spin — ^yet Solomon in all his glory
was not so arrayed. The coming of the revue played havoc
with the elderly syrens of the Alhambra and the Empire,
many of whom had, indeed, prepared themselves for disaster
by contracting matrimonial engagements with the stage
carpenters or forming suburban connections as teachers of
music and dancing. Even so, the disruption of the Savoy
disturbed another interesting and characteristic community.
One esteemed lady boasted thirty years' service there. The
chorus had always contented her — although, to be just,
opportunity was, by this management more than by any
other of its day, systematically made for the emancipation
of talent. The case of the ballet girl is different. Before
the eyes of the recruit are displayed the splendid earnings
of Pavlova. As a matter of fact, the average is not one
possible premiere danseuse, of any grade, in a thousand
pupils. Say ten more may aspire to some lesser distinction.
But as a matter of fact the pay of the English dancer is
less than the reward of any conscientious and competent
exponent of a delightful art should be. It is still more
shameful that the great Continental artists whom lately
we have delighted to honour have been allowed to bring
with them, at home wages, an entourage, which it is
impossible to believe we could not have supplied here.

When Chilperic was done at the Lyceum, with Herve the
handsome composer for its hero, there was a chorus girl
behind the throne in the capacity of a page who one night
calmly put her foot on the arm of his Majesty's chair and
busied herself with a shoelace. Herve audibly asked her

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CONCERNING CHORISTERS

what she was doing. " Sure, I'm tying up my shoelace,"
was the pert response. There was a roar of laughter, the bit
of " business " was repeated night after night, and the ob-
trusive show girl became a famous actress as Jennie Lee.
In the same chorus was Kate Phillips, who had flown to the
stage from the intolerable cage of a governess. Her oppor-
tunity came later, in Herman Merivale's White Pilgrim at
the Court Theatre. A famous show girl of the seventies was
Helen Barry, who had such beautiful hair that a play was
"written around " it. That was in later years, when, in Happy
Land, she had proved to have real ability ; and she progressed
till she was accepted as an actress of note. In Babil and
Bijou, at the Lyceum, she led the Amazons; and on the
occasion of a royal visit she was so determined that her hair
should attract attention, she doubled the natural supply
with a huge switch fastened to the back of her helmet, which
fell off in the procession. Picking it up in great confusion she
replaced the unwieldy thing reversed, with her golden hair
not now " hanging down her back " but falling in profusion
over her chest !

Robert Courtneidge is one of the few managers taking a
real and stimulant interest in his chorus. He maintains that
every chorus girl has the contract of a prima donna in her
reticule. In some aspects a martinet, he is always prospect-
ing for genius, quick to see promise and eager to cultivate
it. But then, in the years that have passed since he left a
simple Scottish home to become a " super " at the Prince's
Theatre, Manchester, he has seen — what not, in the way of
vicissitude ? His first duty was to lay a carpet on the stage
he afterwards made famous for the prettiness and fantastic
humour of his pantomimes, the combined erudition and

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FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

humanity of his Shakespearean revivals. He has tramped
and starved ; he has flung every attribute to the wolves of
adversity save a passion for the theatre and a kindness to
its people. He is the furious apologist for musical comedy —
as a gratefully responsive employment for the best in all
the arts, and as a fine training-school for the histrionic
aspirant, compelled by its many needs to become versatile
and flexible.

And indeed, the stage of to-day justifies him in a score
of instances. When James Albery fell in love with pretty
Mary Moore, and married her, she was a Gaiety girl. When
Marie Etherington found that the concert platform was not
fulfilling the ambitions she had cherished as an Academy
student it was to commit herself to a long and exigeant
apprenticeship in opera bouffe. Then Dorothy made Marie
Tempest famous ; and Becky Sharpe made her more famous.
Ellis Jeffries was a Savoy chorister. Constance Collier was
a Gaiety girl, although with a family tree deep rooted in the
stage, and luxuriant. Ethel Irving was another product of
musical comedy and another bonne chienne de chasse. Her
father was a genuine Irving, and very angry to think that a
beginner by the name of Brodribb should choose that of
Irving. Latest addition to the list is that of j\Iabel Russell,
whose performance as the girl crook in Within the Law set
the town talking.

When the traveller in Lucian gazed upon a memorial and
asked its meaning he was told it had been erected in gratitude,
by shipwrecked mariners, who had called on Neptune and
been saved. " But what," said he, " of them that called on
Neptune and were drowned ? " The popular favourites of
the stage have a strange way of disappearing from the public

200

CONCERNING CHORISTERS

view, sometimes to a happy and prosperous retirement.
From this, a first night at the old home invariably entices
them, heavy-footed husbands in attendance. These under-
dressed veterans, with over-dressed hair, are a most interest-
ing complement of a Gaiety premiere. Some time before his
death Augustus JMoore, in a reminiscent article, mentioned
the name of a clever and beautiful girl, a star of comic opera
in the seventies, and asked : " What has become of her ? "
The answer came from the poor soul herself, her address a
London workhouse. Moore at once busied himself to make
a better arrangement. It was his nature to. But he was
asked to desist. His correspondent was absolutely con-
tented with her lot and conscious of the wisdom of restraint.
I do not fill up sordid intervals, but I believe Moore found a
modified pleasure in such periodical benefactions as were
possible.

I know of one Gaiety girl who is married to a magnate of
the American market ; of another who runs a boarding-house
at Chelsea ; of another who is contented on a cattle ranch in
California, and of another who died a dipsomaniac in a New
York penitentiary. Gaudeamus igitur, juvenes dum sumus !

201

CHAPTER XXIX

MUSICAL COMEDY

The First Musical Comedy — In Town — How " Owen Hall " arrived
— Collaboration according to Gilbert and Sullivan — I'he George
Edwardes Method

WHEN Gilbert and Sullivan wanted to differentiate
their compositions from comic opera as it pre-
vailed ere The Sorcerer, they coined a new phrase,
" comedy-opera," and on the initiative of D'Oyly Carte, a
musical and dramatic agent in a comparatively small way
of business, for the first time, I believe, in the history of the
stage, that wondrous thing, a syndicate, was formed — ^The
Comedy Opera Company (Limited). The earlier Alhambra
Company was different in constitution and intent. Within
our own time another new phrase has become familiar — in
its wake, syndicates innumerable. What was the first
" musical comedy " ? I saw Morocco Bound cited the other
day. Then My Sweetheart. Earlier still was a piece of this
type which came to the Duke's Theatre, Holborn, in the
seventies, Conrad and Lisette. I should say that Swift
inspired the first musical comedy when he said : " What
an odd, pretty thing a Newgate pastoral would make,"
and Gay responded with The Beggar's Opera.

But for us, musical comedy certainly began with In Town.
As to whose idea it was, authorities differ. It was eventually
constructed by James T. Tanner, a silent, gipsy-looking man,

202

MUSICAL COMEDY

with a passion for sea-fishing, who had been Van Biene's
handy man, and who had estabHshed his skill as an author,
or as a carpenter for authors, with an amazing melodrama
called The Broken Melody. Tanner made no pretence to
literary skill, but he had the genius of mise en scene and of
patient rehearsal, and for five and twenty years was in-
dispensable to George Edwardes, who knew Tanner's worth
and who had the most cynical assessment of the merely
literary trimmers of his wares. Once at a rehearsal Edwardes
wanted a few lines to emphasise a situation. He appealed
languidly to half-a-dozen satellites ; then his eye lit on the
author, a consciously important journalist. " Hullo, Mr
So-and-so," he cried, " I wonder if you can help us ! "

" Wropt in mystery " is the exact process of concocting a
musical comedy. From time to time the conspirators quarrel,

and when such gentlemen fall out There have been

sordid revelations in the Law Courts ; in theatrical circles,
recriminatory stories of stolen suggestions, of rejected manu-
scripts from which the essential idea has been withdrawn,
are common. Three of the men whose names are cut deep
into the history of musical comedy did not speak for
years !

In Town gripped the popular imagination at once. It
brought into Bohemia a Cambridge professor with an in-
comparable trick of verse, Adrian Ross ; and there he has
remained. It gave Mr Arthur Roberts the most effective
environment he has ever had ; and, incidentally, it launched
a new style of silk hat on London, the Coddington, variations
on which have ever since been popular with the " nuts."

George Edwardes saw the eagerness with which the public
responded to In Town^ and promptly marshalled his forces,

203

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

One of his first recruits was " Owen Hall," who was actually
James Davis, a solicitor, with a passion for intrusive journal-
ism, and for gambling of all kinds — cards, horses, wild-cat
mining shares, all " looked alike " to him. He graduated as
dramatic critic of The Sporting Times over the signature,
" Stalled Ox." He founded The Bat, and quickly went to
gaol for an article on a race-horse trainer, whom he declared
to be as "hot as the hinges of hell." When another writ
was issued against him he retired to the south of France
till things were smoothed out. And The Bat was transformed
into The Hawk — ^which did nearly as much for Augustus
Moore. Davis cherished a bitter hatred of Justice Hawkins
to the end of his days, and never lost a chance of a gibe at
that wonderful old man, who did not contemn all guerrilla
journalists, after all. The pen-name " Owen Hall " was
suggested to Davis by one of his three clever sisters as
summing up his financial position, and he punctiliously
demanded its use, apropos his stage work. Refer to him as
Davis, or try a little pungency of criticism, and instantly a
furious letter arrived. For, like every slashing journalist
I have kno^vn, he was sensitive to agony himself.

He cherished the belief that musical comedy began with
his Gaiety Girl, and that his books, which included An Artists
Model, The Geisha and Florodora, were gold mines. From
this point of view, shortly before his death, when troubles
beset him, he sought to float himself as a limited liability
company, for the production of musical comedy books,
arraying magnificent figures of potential profits. It was a
" personal security " with a vengeance. In truth, Davis's
strong point was an insolent witticism, which tickled the
jaded palate, and gave the censor many a bad quarter of an

204

•^;e:

H. G. HiBBERT
Caricature by A. S. Forrest

MUSICAL COMEDY

hour. That precious phrase, " the virtuous end of Regent
Street," was his.

Meanwhile a new star arose in the musical comedy firma-
ment, and has never ceased to shine. Captain Basil Hood,
a young soldier who had tentatively written a one-act play
for Augustus Harris, and sketched a ballet for the Empire,
found that the completion of Gentleman Joe engrossed him
to the jeopardy of his future in the army, so he sent in his
papers, though it meant the sacrifice of a pension. He has
never regretted the step. Captain Hood is unique in that he
prepares a plot, writes dialogue and lyrics — all with a work-
manlike and sympathetic consciousness of the music to come
— and supervises the production, as Gilbert did. He cites his
friend and collaborator, Sir Arthur Sullivan, who said : ^' The
man who asks, ' Did you take your music to Gilbert, or did
Gilbert bring his book to you ? ' is a damned fool ; though
we did do a little revision together, naturally."

George Edwardes had this important distinction among
managers, who are apt to be persons of one idea ; or to have a
supine belief that they can go on repeating one success. He
saw that musical comedy must differ from itself in time,
just as it had needed to differ from the effete Gaiety burlesque.
And so there was a constant process of development and
careful variation in the pieces done to his commission.
He seemed to have become dangerously set at last in his
devotion to the Viennese school. A profit of, say, two
hundred and fifty thousand pounds, on The Merry Widow,
on the most liberally experimental disposition, would have
such a tendency. But there came a sudden change. One
of the things we shall never know is the loss to English
speculators of capital invested in undelivered or now

205

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

unpracticable Viennese and German music at the time
of the war outbreak. For the traffic had swelled to
millions.

Mr George Dance, past master in provincial pantomime^
made his own corner in musical comedy. He saw that the
old nursery tales had still the most vitality ; and his standard
of humour was H. J. Byron's, who, when it was pointed out
to him that he was employing a joke a second time, said :
"Used it to get a laugh?" " Oh yes," was the reply. "Then
in it goes again," said the experienced dramatist. What was
The Lady Slavey but our old friend Cinderella ? And what
should The Lady Slavey do but set up Mr William Greet and
Mr Englebach in business and furnish incongruous capital
for the production of The Sign of the Cross. And again, The
Gay Parisienne made a manager of Mr Edward Laurillard —
in time to come, the impresario of Potash and Perlmutter, of
On Trial, and of the New Gaiety. And again The Chinese
Honeymoon established a third important impresario, Mr
Frank Curzon.

206

CHAPTER XXX

THE SALARIES OF CELEBRITIES

Harry Lauder's Figure — Stage Stars in Variety — What Premiere
Danseuses earn — Red-nosed Comedians' Reward

WHEN Alfred Bunn, then manager of Drury Lane
Theatre, demurred to old Farren's demands in
the matter of salary, the actor retorted : " When
there is only one cock salmon in the market, you must pay
the price. I am the cock salmon." This seemed to settle
the question of artists' salaries, for all time. And yet the
parrot cry of chairmen, apologising to shareholders in music
hall companies for diminishing dividends, or for none, is still
the " extortions " of the performer. The real trouble is that
so few music hall " magnates " of to-day know a cock salmon
when they see one. Easily deceived in this respect, they
enter into reckless competition, with others of their kind, for
spurious ware, and so they are committed to immense, un-
profitable outlay. There are, no doubt, many worn-out, and
even originally worthless, artists drawing large salaries and
contracted to do so for years to come. But the ignorance
and folly of their employers cannot fairly be construed into
their " extortion."

Then there is the American market. Its demand for
English performers of certain kinds is always growing, and
the conditions of the business of popular entertainment over
there are such that its entrepreneurs can afford to pay salaries

207

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

far beyond the possibilities of the Enghsh market, and still
make handsome profits. Harry Lauder supplies a case in
point. His demand is now for a minimum five hundred
pounds a week. He was offered eight hundred pounds a
week for a special engagement at the Empire, and declined
it. Few English variety theatres could pay such a salary
— ^none, indeed, to maintain a well-balanced programme.
But America eagerly offers Mr Lauder that much, and more.
None can blame him for taking his good where he finds it.

Leaving aside these artificial prices, and considering the
market at large, the expert observer is confronted by an
acutely interesting situation. Never in its history was the
variety stage in a state of so much uncertainty. The divid-
ing line, once so clear and rigid, between theatre and music
hall, has gone. The programmes at some of our vast variety
theatres are made up as to one-half, or even two-thirds, of
dramatic performances. In the second and third rate halls
one finds so-styled " revues." At first sight he is constrained
to wonder what has become of the old-style music hall pro-
fessional. A recent programme at the London Coliseum in-
cluded no more than two names that would at one time have
been at all suggestive of the music hall. The salary list, at
this juncture, exceeded two thousand pounds weekly ! But
the London Coliseum, with its seating capacity of three
thousand and upwards, and its two performances daily, is able
to withstand such a draft on its exchequer. Other houses
cannot. The Empire was lately employing four artists whose
combined salaries nearly totalled a thousand pounds per
week ; but the rest certainly did not absorb a second
thousand.

Occasionally a huge salary is paid merely to procure an

208

THE SALARIES OF CELEBRITIES

advertisement. This, however, is an outlay that soon spends
its force. A few years ago there was a dead set on the part of
the music hall managers at the distinguished favourites of
the " regular " stage, some of whom had affected an attitude
of extreme superiority. IMoney told its tale. With three
exceptions, every important actor and actress of the day
has now lined up with the Robeys, the Chirgwins and
the Consuls. Some sensational engagements of theatrical
celebrities have, to be sure, been tragical failures in every
aspect save that of advertisement for the procurer, and are
not likely to be repeated.

Probably the largest fee paid was to Sarah Bernhardt for
her first appearance at the London Coliseum — namely, a
thousand pounds, for her personal services, apart from the
salaries of her company and the other expenses. Sir George
Alexander and Sir Herbert Tree had seven hundred and fifty
pounds at the Palace. Miss Marie Tempest had five hundred
pounds at the London Hippodrome. Mr Seymour Hicks,
Mr Charles Hawtrey and Mr Arthur Bourchier command from
two hundred and fifty to three hundred and fifty pounds,
in circumstances.

Some dancers now receive very large salaries. At the
Alhambra in the old days twenty-five pounds a week was
considered a large fee. Genee came to the Empire for fifteen
pounds a week, and for a long time was contented with thirty ;
toward the end of her time there she had seventy. Then
came the boom. Not to be precise, the four most prominent
dancers of the day range from two hundred and fifty to
seven hundred and fifty pounds a week. Pavlova has, in
America, soared away from the topmost figure.

Although the form of the music hall programme has
o 209

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

changed, its former constituents have not been destroyed.
Many of them have been affiliated to the revue, and the
tendency has been to " better themselves " in the process,
while a very large number of undistinguished but useful
artists have found lucrative employment as "fill-ups" of
moving picture programmes. One result of the war has been
to deplete the music hall stage of acrobats. The few im-
portant troupes available at this juncture are American.
The odd thing is that the earliest acrobat and gymnast^ —
indigenous to the fair, transplanted to the circus, then to the
music hall, was English, though he believed it necessary to
affect outrageous foreign names. Then France got a vogue
with Leotard and Blondin. Then came Germany. All these
nations — Italy too — made a call, and a successful call, on
their sons at the outbreak of war. Once an acrobatic troupe
of real distinction would command as much as a hundred
pounds a week, but this sum had possibly to be divided
among a numerous party. But what in the profession are
known as " dumb shows " have lost much of their attractive-
ness, while the mere risk of life is a drug in the market. You
can get an effective parachute descent for as little as thirty
shillings, a perilous high dive for five pounds a week, and
a tight-rope walk at a great elevation for the same sum.

As for " music hall " salaries, as the layman will under-
stand the term, there has certainly been a great increase
during the past ten years ; but there has not been a sudden
leap from figures of extreme modesty to figures of great
magnitude, as some would effectively contrast it. From the
outset the popular favourite has been generously rewarded.
Morton paid Sam Cowell sixty and even eighty pounds a week
at the Canterbury in the fifties. John Hollingshead paid

210

THE SALARIES OF CELEBRITIES

Leotard one hundred and eighty pounds a week at the
Alhambra in the sixties. Blondin got a hundred pounds an
ascent, but accepted a reduction on the rare occasions when
he appeared nightly in a music hall. It used to be a favourite
amusement of the Guardsmen whom Ouida loved to idealise
to travel pickaback with Blondin across his rope. But the
authorities at length forbade this. Archibald Nagel, one of
the Alhambra directors, made a bet that he would cross
and return with Blondin. He had a fit of nerves half-way,
and Blondin grimly remarked that one of them seemed
likely to fall. Nagel steadied himself, and was safely landed
on the platform, but he swore that had his wager been a
thousand pounds instead of five he would not make the
return journey. Leonati, the spiral ascensionist, had two
hundred pounds for six ascents at North Woolwich Gardens
five and thirty years ago. Lulu received a hundred pounds
a week. Zazel's flight from the cannon at the Westminster
Aquarium yielded one hundred and twenty pounds, but not
to Zazel, who probably got a five-pound note.

These are, no doubt, exceptional instances. Chance put in
my way the pay sheet for several years, in the early sixties,
of a Manchester music hall — the best of its day. The total
outlay averaged less than fifty pounds a week. To the fact
that George Leyboume, Fred Cojoie and Nelly Power earned
no more than four pounds a week one must not attach great
importance, for these artists were at an early stage in their
careers. But a combination of Charles Bernard and the Sisters
Brougham, operatic artists highly esteemed at the Canter-
bury, the Vokes Family (not long previously the Vokes
Children), and the John Lauri Troupe of ballet dancers and
pantomimists at twelve poimds a week, ten pounds a week

211

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

and sixteen pounds a week respectively, supply figures that
might be multiplied at least by five to-day. Miss Georgina
Smithson is another four-pound-a-week artist in my
Manchester list. At her best, some years later, she com-
manded forty pounds a week for appearances at two
London halls nightly. So did Louie Sherrington and Annie
Adams, competing " serio-comic " singers of that time. I
suppose we might treble all to day. The only considerable
salary at Manchester was that of "Young Blondin " at
twenty pounds a week for two weeks.

Oddly enough the " Great " Macdermott was not highly
paid in the hour of his supreme triumph. When he sang We
Don't Want to Fight, at the London Pavilion, his salary was
ten pounds a week, spontaneously increased to twenty
pounds a week — ^which was his price per "turn " for many
years to come. In the provinces his salary was sixty pounds
a week. He got a hundred and sixty pounds for a Man-
chester pantomime. The two Macs, popular favourites of
this time, would usually share fifty pounds a week. There
were several Macs, some of whom are dead. One was lately
discovered in a shoeblack, near Tottenham Court Road.

I have the figures supplied to me, with many others here
cited, by the late Hugh Jay Didcott, of an important West
End music hall twenty-five years ago. The programme
contains the names of thirty artists. There is nothing in the
nature of a sketch or set piece — all individual performers,
including Bessie Bellwood at twenty-five pounds, Jenny Hill
at thirty pounds, Harry Randall at twenty-five pounds,
Macdermott at thirty pounds, and so on. Most of these
artists were appearing at three, four and even five nmsic halls
in central and suburban London each night. This practice,

212

THE SALARIES OF CELEBRITIES

which caused much trouble and discussion as to its con-
ditions and as to the proper terms at the time of the music
hall strike, and subsequent proceedings before the Board
of Trade arbitrator, has nearly fallen into disuse during
the past few years. When Mr Albert Chevalier had just
established himself as a music hall singer in the early
nineties, he contentedly worked three " turns " nightly for
thirty-six pounds. Shortly he went on a recital tour, and
made as much as four hundred and fifty pounds a week.
This, incidentally, refutes a statement often made by music
hall magnates that music hall artists are not worth the
salaries they demand. And, of course, the music hall
artist may have an entirely erroneous opinion as to the
worth of the music hall magnate !

It is significant that no factor of the music hall programme
has maintained his price so steadily as the " red -nosed
comedian." Little Tich commands two hundred and fifty
pounds a week, but then, he is desperately fastidious as to
when and where and how he will work. Mr George Robey
is at least a two-hundred-pounds -a- week man. He has
had twice that fee, in special circumstances. Mr Eugene
Stratton and Mr R. G. Knowles have received two hundred
pounds on occasion. There are many performers little known
to West End audiences who have an extraordinary vogue in
the suburbs and the provinces — ^two sisters, still in their
teens, doing a mSlange of mimicry and song, and other
girls working on similar lines, a diminutive comedian and
his wife doing pert dialogues, all exceed a hundred pounds
a week.

Miss Margaret Cooper's memory must often revert to the
days when a guinea or two for a drawing-room entertainment

213

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

was a welcome addition to her earnings as a music teacher,
for she has ad\ anced to two hundred and fifty pounds a week
in the meanwhile. Cecilia Loftus's mimicry has commanded
two hundred and fifty pounds a week. Yvette Guilbert's
sensational debut at the Empire was made in fulfilment of a
contract assuring her of three hundred pounds a week. Social
engagements and extra performances no doubt increased
this greatly. Long ago, we accepted Yvette en famille. So
she has to be contented with a modest two hundred pounds
a week. Miss Vesta Tilley's price has reached three hundred
and fifty pounds a week. Miss Ada Reeve runs in the
neighbourhood of two hundred and fifty pounds a week
and Miss Marie Lloyd ranges from one hundred and fifty
pounds a week upwards, according to circumstances.

All these prices are to be accepted subject to the fluctua-
tions of the market — certainly not as a contract to supply the
article. And let no young woman comfortably earning
thirty shillings a week at a type machine see temptation in
the figures I have marshalled.

214

CHAPTER XXXI

MEMORABLE PRODUCTIONS

Gamblers in Management — Expenses and Earnings of West End
Theatres — The Romance of Charley's Atmt — The Brave Days
of Opera Bonffe — Irving's Extravagance — The Merry Widow

ONE of the lessons learned by the theatrical manager
from the war is that his expenditure on the pro-
duction of plays, but especially of musical comedy,
had become outrageous, unremunerative and ineffectual.
When the curtain rose on one of last year's productions
it represented a capital outlay of rather more than ten
thousand pounds — there is, of course, a point in accountancy
at which capital expenditure ceases, and weekly income and
outgoing is reckoned with. In this case, part of the ten
thousand pounds was represented by the somewhile idle
theatre, and part by the preliminary advertising on that
prodigal scale which has become a convention of the theatre.
But some seven thousand pounds represented the cost of
the scenery and the dresses. The piece achieved merely a
succes d'estime. Had it been a veritable triumph it could
hardly have paid ; for, with large salaries to meet, a consider-
able rent, and the advertising campaign continued, the
weekly margin of possible profit was so small that many
months must have elapsed ere the initial outlay was over-
taken. And nothing declines in value so precipitously as
stage fabric declines. Some of the revivals, and more modest

215

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

productions, of war time have proved that the public is
contented with less extravagant shows — finds more time
to consider therein the legitimate attractions of the drama,
not being distracted by futile splendour. From other
points of view, which do not now concern me, the play
capable of a moderate success, but discarded, because it
does not involve an immoderate outlay, and therefore an
immoderate gain — or loss — is potentially most important in
the development of a national drama.

Competition is not solely responsible for prodigal ex-
penditure. The spirit of gambling in the commerce of the
stage is, in all its phases, mischievous. But the phases differ.
A gambler may be expert and judicious in his risks ; or he
may be extra daring in the consciousness that he is playing
with other people's money ; or he may be just a reckless
fool. All these types are to be found among theatrical
managers. And there is another element, which it is not
convenient to discuss, but which sometimes deep-dyes, and
nearly always tinges, theatrical enterprise.

If a graduate in commercial business, with a single-hearted
love of the drama (not of its exponents) and a sense of
its recreative, as well as of its artistic and moral, responsi-
bilities, should ever address himself, his own capital, and
industry, and routine, to the conduct of a London theatre,
controlling, not controlled by his " experts," the result would
be interesting, and almost certainly a financial success of
great magnitude. There is hardly a theatre in respect of
which it would not be possible for such a man to effect an
immense saving — on almost every commodity used, and
probably on much of the artistic detail. In intimate
theatrical circles the names of actors and managers are

216

MEMORABLE PRODUCTIONS

glibly mentioned whose careers have cost their fatuous
financial supporters hundreds of thousands of pounds.
There is not an industry in the world of which the conditions
are so fatally artificial. There is not a theatrical purveyor,
from the great costumier to the bill sticker, who would not
willingly deal at half his now accustomed rates if he could
work on normal conditions, for certain and prompt payment.
Even where he is consciously dealing with an honest and
dependable customer, his perfectly intelligible disposition
is to impose a contribution to his sinking fund against the
others. One's observation is, certainly, that the actor
manager, from Garrick onwards, has had the most beneficent
influence on the stage. But of actor managers, the trades-
man masquerading as an actor has been more effective
than the actor masquerading as a tradesman. The
tradesman qua tradesman has never been fairly tested.

Dependable figures of theatrical commerce are very hard
to get. There are the balance sheets of limited liability
companies, but their statements are studiously general.
There are occasional bankruptcies, the revelations of which
are instructive. And that ideally invaluable, but, in practice,
often preposterous person, the press agent, circulates some
wonderful figures. We were told lately that four revues
" represented an outlay of two hundred thousand pounds."
Pantomimes have been put down as costing twenty thousand
pounds.

Now it is hard to know how a person of any experience,
and a sense of economy, can spend more than five thousand
pounds on the preparation of a musical comedy or revue,
or more than ten thousand pounds on a pantomime. The
provincial manager is apt to be the more discreet. Some very

217

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

fine pantomimes have been done in the provinces for a
thousand pounds, and some very smart revues have been
sent on tour for considerably less. Of course, they have
reproduced London designs, and so saved one expense, and
many experiments.

How is the money to come back ? Drury Lane is capable
of holding upwards of five hundred pounds a performance,
and so of taking a thousand pounds a day during the first
few weeks of pantomime. But this is a unique instance.
The London theatres capable of taking three hundred pounds
a performance are very few. I doubt if the average earning
capacity of all the West End theatres exceeds two hundred
pounds a performance. The very much larger earnings of
the American theatres are due to an entirely different dis-
position of the seats. There they give up nothing like the
space we do here to seats at prices equivalent to two shillings
and one shilling. Frohman, true to his policy, never sought
to impose this plan on London ; but Frohman enormously
increased the difficulties of English managers by his reckless
inflation of actors' salaries and his princely treatment of
authors. Here is an instance : a young actor at the St
James's Theatre, whose not inadequate salary there was
eight pounds a week, attracted him. Frohman at once
tendered a contract for a term of years at forty pounds a
week for London, sixty pounds a week for America !

Rent is one of the most serious problems of the London
manager. Years ago a hundred pounds a week was a common
figure. One of the first of the modern houses, the Lyric,
was leased to Horace Sedger for a term, at six thousand five
hundred pounds a year. This, probably, began the upward
trend. Meanwhile a figure as high as ten thousand pounds

218

MEMORABLE PRODUCTIONS

a year has been reached — quite ridiculous, and an intolerable
burden on a legitimate enterprise. The explanation is in
many cases an accumulation of sub-leases, each one carrying
a profit rental. There are cases in which an ephemeral
tenant has been called upon to pay five times the rental
which satisfied the original tenant. Some half-a-dozen
original leases are on the eve of completion, and so it may be
that an important revision of theatre rentals as between
" principals only "is at hand. Its effect will be salutary.
One fairly desirable West End house was lately on offer for
twenty-one years at a rental of a hundred and fifty pounds
a week.

Sometimes the rental includes the refreshment bars ; but
not always. This is a most important detail. Augustus
Harris frankly recorded that the thousand pounds cash
which he secured for twelve months' sub-lease of the Drury
I ane bars formed his original capital. The bars of a London
theatre, at a fairly prosperous time, are worth from thirty
to forty pounds a week.

Charley's Aunt supplies one of the romances of the stage.
For its production, at the Royalty Theatre, a thousand
pounds was guaranteed by a capitalist who was actually
called upon to find no more than six hundred pounds. This,
it transpired, he borrowed, piecemeal, from a money-lender at
sixty per cent ! The run of the play at the Globe is historic.
The rent of the theatre was seventy pounds a week. Ex-
cluding Penley, the largest salary paid was twelve pounds a
week. There were as many as twenty companies duplicating
performances all over the world, and half a million of money
is not a wild estimate of the eventual earnings of the farce.
The three persons among whom the profits were originally

219

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

shared all died poor, but when, a year or two ago, the
" rights " reverted to the family of the late Brandon Thomas,
they were reckoned to be worth a steady two thousand
pounds a year still.

Another instance of a play produced at a moderate cost
and achieving immense results is Sweet Lavender. Terry is
understood to have made fifty thousand pounds out of this
play. He might have made more, but he hesitated so long
as to the acquisition of the provincial rights that he lost
them. Terry was a man of large charities and small re-
servations. During the run of The Times, there was a
bitter feud between Fanny Brough and another actress,
whom Miss Brough charged with habitually spilling the
milk, during their afternoon tea scene, and so endangering a
gown, bought, of course, at her own expense. Miss Brough
at length took her grievance to Terry. " God bless my soul,"
he cried, " you don't mean to tell me that Brickwell is
giving you real milk! " The suggested economy is almost
equal to that of one of our most engaging actress-managers —
with a very clear eye on business. A canary was employed in,
a production. The property man's weekly bill included two-
pence for bird seed. It was returned with a note : "Query:
Bulk cost of bird seed ? Usual allowance for normal bird ?
Also : get quotations for artificial birds, rigid and with
mechanical movements."

There seemed to be some magic influence in the transfer
of a play to the Globe, as witness again Les Cloches de Come-
ville, originally produced at the Folly, and The Private
Secretary, originally produced at the Prince of Wales's Theatre.
Les Cloches de Corneville was a rank failure at the El Dorado
in Paris — though Canton, its owner, managed to encuorage it

220

MEMORABLE PRODUCTIONS

into a success elsewhere. Alexander Henderson and H. B.
Farnie committed themselves to its production here, but
believed it to be foredoomed to failure. They forbade
Alias the costumier any serious outlay, and furiously up-
braided him when they found that the bills had run up to
nearly four hundred pounds. They cast Shiel Barry as
Gaspard quite casually — he was an Irish character actor
who, on his part, had no faith in his possibilities, and took
the precaution of losing his voice on the eve of the produc-
tion. He filled himself with every nostrum chemists could
supply, but, fortimately, did not overcome his hoarseness.
Henderson and Farnie devoted themselves to one of theii
periodical quarrels, and were not in the theatre when the
curtain fell. They were hurriedly summoned, and when, as
they approached, they heard thunders of applause, thought
the audience was "guying" the piece, and exchanged a
satisfied " I told you so." For twenty years Les Cloches de
Corneville was played somewhere sans cesse ; but, for some
reason, Planquette never drew fees on the English perform-
ance. Long before his death he estimated his loss under
this head at forty thousand pounds.

When Les Cloches de Corneville was transferred to the
Globe it was re-dressed, but even then, at one-fifth the cost
a modern manager would consider to be essential. My old
friend Alias tells me that an expenditure of from a
thousand to fifteen hundred pounds was considered
ample in the brave days of opera bouffe, and he, of
course, is the epitome of its history, from La Fille de
Madame Angot onward. It is one of the dear incongruities
of London that the fripperies of the modern stage should be
fashioned in what was once a convent, while the family life

221

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

of the Aliases, in its old -Parisian circumstance, should touch
nearly the last refuge of Jeanne du Barry.

Charles Alias, the son of a French surgeon, refused to
become what he called a butcher. His angry parent bade
him go to London and " sell socks," a phrase of contempt for
tradesmen. Seeing the name of Clodoche on the bills of the
Philharmonic Theatre, Islington, the lonely Alias addressed
himself to a compatriot, formed a friendship that long
endured, and embarked upon the career he has so adorned.

Clodoche originated the dance we know as the cancan. It
has been described as a development of the Carmagnole,
but this description is not quite correct. Clodoche's fan-
tastic leaps were as nearly original as a modern dance may
be. He was a finely skilled carver of wood, for decorative
purposes, mostly of the human figure. He frequented the
Opera balls with a party of friends, and their dances created
so great a sensation that the proceedings would be stopped
for their special performance, wealthy patrons of the function
flinging them handsome gifts. Eventually, Clodoche became
a professional dancer. The indecency of the dance, which
Mademoiselle Finette first performed in London, began when
women, or men dressed as women, addressed themselves to
an increase of its antics.

Another associate of Alias was Phil I^fay, introduced to
him as a needy, erratic, but very promising artist, by Lionel
Brough. May was added to the staff, and, as a precaution,
kept in the house. His characteristics soon developed, and
one day Alias, urgently desiring a sketch, surreptitiously re-
moved Phil's clothes from his room, sent him up his break-
fast and some drawing paper, locked the door and betook
himself to the Avenue Theatre. During an interval of the

222

MEMORABLE PRODUCTIONS

rehearsals there was an adjournment to Romano's, where
May was found, in a Henry VIII. gaberdine, velvet slippers
and so forth, calmly sipping his third apSritif. " Good God,"
cried Alias, " and have you made me ridiculous by walking
here like that ? " Said the delinquent : " Walking, governor ?
Oh no ! The cabman's waiting outside. Better pay him."

Heavy expenditure on productions is not altogether a
modem custom. Charles Kean claimed, in one of his state-
ments to the public, to have expended fifty thousand pounds
in a single season ! Dion Boucicault squandered eleven
thousand pounds of Lord Londesborough's money on Babil
and Bijou, and bolted to America on the eve of the produc-
tion. Boiled lobsters, swimming complacently in the deep
sea, were a memorable feature thereof. Nothing so costly
and disastrous occurred in London till the Cinderella panto-
mime, which Charles Harris did at His Majesty's, in 1889-1890.
He had quarrelled with his brother Augustus, and meant to
ruin Drury Lane at any cost. The result was, instead, bank-
ruptcy in five minutes, and a world scandal — ^meetings of
starving supers, a public subscription and the devil (but
nobody else) to pay.

Boucicault was probably the first author to receive really
enormous fees — but he " produced " his plays, acted in them,
took a tithe of the receipts under all headings, and money
ran through his fingers in tens of thousands. He received
three thousand pounds for altering, and adding his name to,
the American version of Rip Van Winkle, for reproduction
by Joseph Jefferson at the Adelphi Theatre. He is said to
have made as much as forty thousand pounds in a year.

Fortunes have been made out of melodrama more often,
I imagine, by their entrepreneurs than by their authors, for

223

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

various reasons. When Paul Meritt wrote New Babylon he
made a truculent demand for " two hxmdred poimds or
nothing." Charles Wilmot thought to compromise by offer-
ing a share, and the sum divisible at a not advanced stage
in the history of the play was sixty thousand pounds. This
was not Wilmot's only unfortunate experience of the chance
element in theatrical adventure. He disliked the idea of
insurance. He had the Duke's Theatre burned down once,
the Philharmonic — or the Grand — Theatre burned down
twice. Then, he insured heavily, and spent the rest of his
life in paying unrequited premiums.

There are few things so tragical as the murder of a good
story. Paul Meritt did not say, when Carlyle died : " Another
of us gone," but he did say, when Victor Hugo died :
" Another gap in our ranks." Meritt was a man of immense
bulk, and had the peevish consciousness of it, not uncommon.
I once surprised him copying his letters — he was a punctilious
and legible correspondent — by the obvious process of sitting
on the letter book. He was — could one say — covered with
confusion, and begged that the incident might be forgotten.
He habitually protested that he ate nothing ; but Pettitt
used to tell a story of Meritt and baked sheeps' heads
delightedly discovered at an East End eating-house which
made a fool of Gargamelle and the tripe.

Sir John Hare once described Irving as " the most extra-
vagant manager that ever put his careless signature to a
cheque." So, no doubt, he was. His sole thought in regard
to the material of the Lyceum productions was to get the
best, in fulfilment of the specifications of the greatest
authorities available, who had no knowledge of the limita-
tions of the theatre Bram Stoker has put it on record that

224

MEMORABLE PRODUCTIONS

the capital expenditure on the Lyceum stage during his term
of management was two hundred thousand pounds These
are heroic figures, and authentic, of course. One would be
interested in particulars. I believe that the Lyceum Faust
cost more than ten thousand pounds. There was more
reason for an almost exactly similar expenditure on the
Empire ballet. At His Majesty's, an adequate stage setting
is wont to be secured for an expenditure of about three
thousand pounds. Th's would include the Faust production.
But His Majesty's employs an acute business brain as well
as a genius.

We reach sensible, business figures of the Lyceum when
we learn from Mr Stoker that after a fire had destroyed
thirty thousand poimds' worth of stores, it was found
possible to duplicate five essential productions for eleven
thousand pounds. To anyone with a knowledge of Irving's
method this is a plain tale. He would have a costly
dress made for his consideration, and reject it. He would
have a second, and a third submitted — ^and finally make up
-his mind to the first, lightly committing the others to stock.

I recall few things more interesting than a week of wander-
ing, with Irving s sanction, among the accumulated scenic
stores of the Lyceum. And the memory was never so
poignant as when I made a second tour of the famous old
theatre, from " grid " to cellar, with Tom Barrasford when he
was accorded proud possession of the Lyceum, for transforma-
tion into a music hall, after the sale by auction of all its
paraphernalia, in many instances of deeply historic interest,
at prices so ridiculous as even to o'ercrow the humour of the
newspaper reporters. Let me pause to pay a tribute to
Tom Barrasford's memory. His origin was so humble that,
p 225

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

if he knew it, he never disclosed it. He had spent his youth
among the flotsam and jetsam of the Tyneside, on the out-
skirts of race-courses, in " sing-songs." His adaptativeness
was immense. He had the bookmaker's deftness at figures.
He could speak a little French, a little German, talk thieves'
slang with his fingers, sing, dance, judge men and horses to
a nicety — he mastered most things, always excepting the rudi-
ments of English grammar. But he was the very apostle of
popular recreation. It was a matter of sincere delight to him
to feel that in his many music halls he was affording innocent
pleasure to a hundred thousand people at once. He would
unexpectedly march, in this mood a very martinet, through
any of his houses, and a speck of dirt on the brass of the
door-plate, or in the humour of a hundred-guinea comedian,
raised a storm of rage.

Arnott, dead now, as every important member of Irving's
expert, affectionate and passionately loyal entourage is dead,
was the autocrat of the Lyceum " property room," which
began in the old drawing-room of Madame Vestris, but spread
to the remotest comer of the theatre. The accumulation
was immense and fascinating. Many of the ingenious
resorts of that time have been rendered unnecessary by
modern invention and discovery. But a consciousness of
the achievements of modem science only increases one's
admiration for the tireless painstaking of the Lyceum.

More interesting to us to-day are such items as forty suits
of chain mail, procured at an iromense cost, for Lear. It was
found that the most stalwart " super " could not move in one,
so silvered fishing net was substituted. The public was none
the wiser and none the worse, but Irving was needlessly
anxious that the counterfeit should not be revealed. For

226

MEMORABLE PRODUCTIONS

Wolsey's robes a commission was dispatched to Rome, to
get the very shade of silk. For Faust an organ was installed,
and a peal of bells, both at a great cost. A spinning-wheel
of the period was procured from Nuremberg for Ellen Terry,
who could not work it, so Arnott had to make a simple wheel,
at a cost of a few shillings. In The Lyons Mail a valise is
hastily slit, and banknotes torn out by impetuous fingers.
Bank of France notes, again, carefully of the period, were
printed on the proper paper, so that if one or two should be
carried by the stage draughts into the stalls the illusion was
unbroken. Bank of England notes were needed for The Iron
Chest, but in this case the authorities forbade an exact
reproduction. In The Lyons Mail, again, the aid of a well-
known conjm-er was invoked for the glasses out of which
Dubosc appeared to drink such vast quantities of brandy.

On the eve of a great production, when everybody had been
rehearsed to utter weariness, Irving would dismiss, and,
alone untired, would say quietly : " Now, Arnott ! You and
I will have our run through." Then he would seat himself
in the centre of the stage, and minutely inspect all the
details, to a gaiter button. " There was hell," said Arnott
with a grin, " because a bit of solder had been used in some
of them Cromwell suits of armour, where Mr Seymour Lucas
had specified rivets." I doubt if Arnott really said of an
important production, summarising the titled authorities
associated in it : " Three blooming knights — ^and, that's
what I give it." Terriss was the only man who ever dared
retort. Once he had glibly run off a few lines of Shakespeare
— ^repeatedly and persistently in his own way. "Terriss,
Terriss 1 My boy ! What do those lines mean to you ? "
said " the Chief." Terriss stared blankly. " What do they

227

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

mean ? What — do — ^they — ^mean ? Oh ! governor ! I say !
Come off it ! "

George Edwardes probably knew as much of the ups
and downs of theatrical management as any man — ^more
than will ever be revealed. He discarded Dorothy as a failure,
and sold it, stock, lock and barrel, to " Jack " Leslie for a
thousand pounds. Leslie made sixty thousand pounds out
of this strange conglomeration of a " book " written for one
opera — ^not original in idea at that — ^music composed for
another, and an interpolated ballad, Queen of My Hearty
not intended for either but for a Christy Minstrel show !
Leslie ruined himself — over Dorothy — lived for years, in
exile and came home to die in poverty. In a few years
The Chinese Honeymoon made a new record for a musical
play. It must have run to a hundred thousand pounds.
And then The Merry Widow put them all in the shade
— even as regards England alone. What her earnings were
in America, and on the Continent, none could compute.
What I do know is, that her near rival. The Waltz Dream,
yielded Leo Fall, not long before a musical director at the
German equivalent of five pounds a month, composer's fees
to the amount of sixty thousand pounds. But, whatever
The Merry Widow made, the figures have certainly been
equalled in amount by the losses of those reckless and stupid
managers who saw no objective but to secure "another
Merry Widow,^^ As a receptacle for the fortunes of the
foolish, at any rate, the theatre is certainly a bottomless pit.

228

CHAPTER XXXII

A STUDY IN STOLL

Manager at Thirteen— Leybourne's Last Days— The Fantastic Frock
Coat — Lessons in French — Literary Efforts

IN 1880, a youngster still somewhat short of fourteen
years was hastily summoned from school to make what
show he could in the room of his step-father, deceased.
That is thirty-five years ago ; and, in the meanwhile, Oswald
Stoll has not taken a definite holiday. He has personally
initiated twenty music halls. He is the effective manager
of thirty-five; and he is interested in upwards of sixty.
The birthplace of this vast enterprise is now a tailor's shop, in
Liverpool. In 1845 it was the Royal Parthenon Assembly
Rooms — the casual home of the Iowa Indians, and Bianchi's
Waxworks. A year later, one J. G. Stoll began business in
the Parthenon Saloon, thereafter the Parthenon Rooms,
eventually the Parthenon Music Hall, which remained in the
Stoll family for half-a-century. There is extant a programme
of poses plastiques exhibited in 1850. Mr John Reed, "the
Old Favourite Comic Vocalist," and Miss M. Baxter, "the
Celebrated Sentimental Singer from the London and Glasgow
Concerts" alternated with pictures of a curiously familiar
type : " The Sultan's Favourite returning from her Bath,"
"Daughters of the Deep," " Greeks surprised by the Enemy,"
and so on.
Young Oswald Stoll quickly developed a passion for

229

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

correspondence which has never been wholly extinguished.
Taking for guidance the account-books of the earliest Stoll,
he shaped ideal programmes for the Parthenon, Liverpool,
which he was not able to materialise, for the simple
reason that he was offering, " Let us say two pounds ten,"
to artists meanwhile making twenty times that money. Still,
the mistake was on the right side. And during the ten years
that ensued, the Parthenon prospered. Mrs Stoll was the
bulwark of her son. She is now. It is a pretty tradition of
their friendship that whenever he opens a new house Madam
settles into the box-office and takes the first money.

One of the last engagements that George Leyboume ful-
filled was at the Parthenon, Liverpool. Said Mr Stoll to me
a while ago : "" I awaited the arrival of my star in terror ; but
he came not. I went round to his lodgings, and, in a sordid
room, found him, huddled up in an arm-chair, half comatose.
I shook him, and cried : ' Come, Mr Leyboume ! All your
friends are waiting for you. ' I shall never forget the bitter-
ness of his outburst. ' My friends ! ' he cried. ' I have
no friends ! Curse the men who called themselves my
friends ! ' I got him to the hall, and there, again, he just
collapsed into an arm-chair. I thought it all hopeless. But
when the band played his opening music, he sprang to his
feet, a new man, full of life and charm. He sang five songs,
and was applauded to the echo. George Leyboume was,
to me, the exposition of the word ' personality.' I had seen
nothing like it before. I have seen nothing like it since. I
suppose I never shall. It was wonderful. To me, in our
brief intercourse, he had been disagreeable. But he took
his audience in both hands ; took it to his heart, charmed
and helpless."

230

A STUDY IN STOLL

Leaving out of one's consideration the great ballet and
revue houses, the London Coliseum is undoubtedly the typical
music hall of the world. It is hardly a development of
the old-time hall, from which it differs greatly. Whence
comes it ? Well, Sam Hague's Minstrels were always before
the eyes of Oswald Stoll at Liverpool — comic and sentimental
song, orchestral music, short dramatic pieces. And at the
theatres ? Programmes then made up of three, or four, or
five dramatic pieces, with songs "between." This may
give a clue. But the music hall of Mr Stoll's culture is
a veritable cormorant. Each morsel he is able to minister
unto his creature is a triumph — circus, country fair, concert
platform, theatre, ministrel troupe, they have all paid their
tribute.

Then he engrafted on the music hall the " twice nightly "
system. It was not his invention. Years ago, the founder
of the Barnard family of entrepreneurs, pawnbrokers and
hire furniture merchants, had a music hall at Chatham,
familiarly known as the " Tin Can." He gave two perform-
ances nightly : the first, for the delectation of the " common "
soldier, the second for the amusement of the officers, when
Tommy was stowed away in barracks. But this is merely
a fantastic forefather of the twice nightly system, which,
pace here and there an experiment, was devised by Mr Stoll
to ensure a revenue large enough to meet the vast expenses
of a really important music hall, and was probably
suggested to him by the old theatrical dodge for re-
plenishing its audience, ^' Second price at nine."

So, when Oswald Stoll moved on, from the Parthenon,
Liverpool, to the Empire, Cardiff, he conceived the idea of
linking up a series of halls, with a number of artists

231

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

specially sealed, giving them permanent employment. The
old plan was to keep a popular favourite in one place. There
was a comic singer who stayed at the Parthenon, Liverpool,
nine months. Nowadays he would be spread over forty
halls.

If anyone should encounter Oswald Stoll in the vestibule
of a theatre, it is inconceivable that he should ask : " Are
you the manager ? " for there are none of the marks of that
amazing functionary. The silk hat, frock coat, simple cravat,
dark trousers, comfortable boots, sparse jewellery, leave you
in doubt between a Nonconformist minister and a bank
manager. For some occasion, a modified carefulness of
attire was impressed upon him. He professed to take the
hint, and appeared, still in a frock coat, but, with all the
other details of a dazzling lightness !

Eyes of a disconcerting benevolence beam through
pince-nez. There is an ominous pause before every sentence,
delivered in a carefully subdued voice, which never reaches
a high pitch. Twice only has Mr Stoll been heard to swear.
His favourite outlet is to pen subtly sarcastic descriptions
of unsatisfactory performances, for the film announcements
which appear on the Coliseum screen during the intermission.
When that weird exposition of " futurist music " a while ago
awakened an echo like the roar of a wounded animal from
the Coliseum gallery, Mr Stoll noted the case in a few
sentences which the enterprising impresario thought were
smart reclame — because he could not understand English.
Those who could, were brought to death's door, by laughter.

Nothing has so impressed me in my knowledge of this man
as an experience of his evidence before a Royal Commission
on some matter of the stage. He did not understand

232

A STUDY IN STOLL

French ; but a knowledge of French plays was important.
Within a few hours, he was carefully fed with a precis of each
play essential to his evidence, and had learned to recite,
with a correct accent, the appropriate extracts.

He does not drink ; he does not smoke. His idea
of exercise is a drive round Putney Heath ; of violent
exercise, a drive round Putney Heath — twice. He has a
wonderful library of standard authors ; and an intimate
acquaintance with them all. He has enriched literature
with two of the most remarkable books that ever came
through a stage door — a profound study of Herbert
Spencer, and an idealistic essay on high finance. Once
he wrote a comic song, called Mary and John, which had
a tremendous vogue. Nobody outside his family was ever
heard to address him by his Christian name. The senti-
ment with which he inspires his enormous staff is that of
" wonder and amaze " at his capacity.

233

CHAPTER XXXIII

SOCIETY — FIFTY YEARS AGO

The Beginnings of the Bancrofts — Robertson and his Comedies —
Tyranny of Burlesque — The Stage in the Sixties

AS the collection of these pages draws to a close, it
will be in order to commemorate the fiftieth anniver-
sary of the production of Society at the Prince
of Wales's Theatre — on 11th November 1865. It is not
improbable that there are playgoers to-day who never heard
of Society. There are many, certainly, who never saw a
performance of Robertson's comedy. To few will the inci-
dence of its jubilee convey so much as it should. For
Society sounded the note of a revolution, and established
a management that became historic. On 11th November
1865, Marie Wilton and H. J. Byron had been associated in
the direction of the Prince of Wales's Theatre just six months.
They were not exactly partners, in that Miss Wilton found
the money, avowed the responsible management, and in-
demnified Byron against loss. Their understanding, and
their misunderstanding, are fully set forth in The Bancrofts ;
On and Off the Stage. There was, from the outset, an
imperfect sjnnpathy. Briefly, Byron's interest was to write
burlesque, for its then most popular exponent. Marie Wilton's
ambition was to leave burlesque for the higher plane of
comedy. But, in their earlier programmes, burlesque
predominated. In La! Sonnamhula; or the Supper, the

234

H. |. Byron

SOCIETY—FIFTY YEARS AGO

Sleeper, and the Merry Swiss Boy, Miss Wilton was once
more the " beamish boy," Alessio. Fanny Josephs played
Elvino; Mr Dewar, Rodolpho, "Johnny" Clarke, Amina ;
Bella Goodall, Lisa; and Harry Cox, "a virtuous peasant
(by the kind permission of the legitimate drama)." Bancroft
was from the outset a member of the company ; and
already, he confesses, in love with his manager. He had been
on the stage four years, spent mostly in Birmingham and
Liverpool. In Birmingham his salary was one pound a week.
His manager of those days, Mercer Simpson, has often told
me that the young actor endeared himself more by his skill
as a fencer than by his promise as an actor ; for Simpson was
an enthusiastic swordsman, and gladly utilised Bancroft's
skill with the foils for morning practice. At another obscure
and vanished theatre, W. H. Kendal had just made his first
appearance on the stage, playing a small part in Sweeney
Todd and, with his more distinguished comrade of the Royal,
was wont to celebrate their improvement at Saturday night
suppers of the homeliest description, in dejected lodgings
still to be inspected during my time in Birmingham.

Edgar Pemberton, the acute diarist of the Birmingham
stage, is fain to admit that he does not remember Bancroft's
work, though he must certainly have seen it. I regret that the
question never arose in conversation with another Birmingham
connoisseur — a fishmonger, of poor surrounding, who for many
years had been King of the Claque, and who frankly rejoiced
in his suppression as such. " For," said he, "I can really
enjoy a play at last." He was a genuine lover of the stage,
and a discerning critic, resentful of the occasions when his pro-
fessional retainer had meant the perversion of his judgment.

Anyhow, the aristocratic-looking young actor whose work

235

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

at Liverpool commended itself to Marie Wilton had already
accumulated a large repertory of minor characters in Shake-
speare ; and, notably, such useful parts of the period as Bob
Brierley, John Mildmay, Captain Hawkesley and Murphy
Maguire. When Society was produced Bancroft was entrusted
with the part of Sidney Daryl, which in eventual revivals he
exchanged for that of Tom Stylus. Shortly after his later
triumph in Caste he married his director, doubtless in need of
such guidance, for the erratic Bjnron had gone his way.

Everybody was getting on. Marie Bancroft's genius for
comedy was universally acclaimed. Tom Robertson's fees,
which were one pound a performance for Society, had
increased to three pounds a performance for Caste. And in
a statement he drew up about this time for the use of
his executor, he scheduled investments exceeding in value
five hundred poimds. Authors deal in more heroic figures
nowadays.

It is rather more than a hundred years since the Prince of
Wales's theatre was built, on the site of a much earlier
Concert Room. It ruined its first proprietor, whose wife
aspired to act. He was a pawnbroker named Paul, eventually
as Blanchard says, with an eloquent inflection of malice,
" compelled to raise supplies on the other side of the very
counter where he had once been chief dictator." After its
apparently essential baptism of bankruptcy, the theatre
changed its name a dozen times — the Regency, the West
London Theatre, the Queen's (William IV. 's accession sug-
gested this compliment to Queen Adelaide), the Fitzroy, the
Queen's, agaiu, are not all the descriptions of the house,
which was known as " the Dusthole " when Marie Wilton and
her early associates entered into possession, fearful that its

236

SOCIETY—FIFTY YEARS AGO

patrons would molest a party so respectable. None the less,
Frederic Lemaitre made his first appearance in England there ;
and, for a time, it was managed by Mrs Nisbett, that frail,
beautiful creature who married a title, and to whom Planche
impudently quoted :

" If to her share some female errors fall
Look on her face and you'll believe them all."

Tom Robertson, schoobnaster, entertainer, actor, journalist,
hack playwright, had done nothing more remarkable for the
stage than translate from a French play David Garrick for
Sothem. He wrote Society with Sothem in his eye — ^to play
Sidney Daryl, of course. Sothem liked the play, and the
part, and lent the needy dramatist thirty poxmds on the
security of the manuscript. But Buckstone, then midway
through his twenty-five years' tenancy of the Haymarket,
promptly dismissed Society as "rot." Every manager in
town agreed ; finally, Sefton Parry, to whom the angry
dramatist retorted that he was such an utter idiot, his opinion
confirmed in its writer an obstinate belief in the merit of
Society.

When Alexander Henderson at last agreed to try the play,
at the Prince of Wales's Theatre, Liverpool, there was a
difficulty about Sothem's thirty pounds. Byron, who had
introduced Society to Henderson, was characteristically unable
to find it. And the loan was eventually negotiated in the
" Owls' Roost." The irony of it ! It is hard to imagine that
Byron repented of his interest in Society, for by all accounts
he was an amiable creature ; but he certainly threw the
weight of his influence against its production at the Prince
of Wales's Theatre. The success of Society crowned Miss

237

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

Wilton's belief in her genius for comedy, settled her deter-
mination to abandon burlesque, and eventually excluded
Byron from the scheme. Burlesque continued in the mean-
while to be a feature of the Prince of Wales's progranmie.
At Christmas, 1865, Little Don Giovanni was produced, as a
seasonable supplement to Society^ and John Hare, who had
made his first remarkable success as Lord Ptarmigant, had
to put on the petticoats of Zerlina ! Clarke was the Leporello,
Fanny Josephs the Masetto, Sophie Larkin the Elvino and
Miss Hughes the Donna Anna. This was Marie Wilton's last
appearance in burlesque, though some time still elapsed
ere it was excluded from her programmes altogether.

She records, in her Memoirs, that an amusing feature oi Little
Bon Giovanni was the Commandant's horse, which "looked
like an exaggerated Lowther Arcade toy." About this time,
the dilapidated equestrian statue in Leicester Square was,
during a night, painted white and adorned with huge white
spots. London laughed in approval — and the cleansing of the
foul and disreputable Square began to be seriously considered.
Official attempts to discover the perpetrators of the " out-
rage " were unsuccessful ; though the investigation need not
have travelled farther than the Alhambra paint-room. It
is interesting to survey the London stage as it was in the
autmnn of 1865. London mourned the death of two very
different, and yet not unsjmapathetic, celebrities — Palmerston
and Tom Sayers. None of the forces that made the modern
stage was manifest ; though the Bancrofts have lived to see
them spent ! Henry Irving had been to London, but
resigned his engagement with Harris at the Princess's,
because his part in Ivy Hall was insignificant, and
returned to the provinces for more years of drudgery.

238

SOCIETY-FIFTY YEARS AGO

Still, it may be that the Lyceum had in Fechter the
most interesting manager of the moment. With Charles
Dickens for his backer, never heavily taxed, and
faithfully repaid, Fechter was for four years, from 1863
to 1867, the director of the Lyceum, The Duke's Motto,
Hamlet, Belphegor, Ravenswood and The Corsican Brothers
being among his productions. At the particular moment,
he was doing an adaptation from the French, by Palgrave
Simpson, called The Watch Cry. Fechter was, in fact,
the one distinguished director of the earlier Lyceum, other
than Madame Vestris. There were several ephemeral
managements after his depaiture, ere Colonel Bateman
laid the foundation for Henry Irving.

Gilbert had not yet delivered his attack on salacious and
sUly opera bouffe — for one thing, opera bouffe was still un-
known. He may claim to have written the first "problem
play," or the first play to which that stupid phrase could,
with its present significance, be applied — to wit, Charity, which
was produced at the Haymarket in 1874, with Mrs Kendal
as the central figure of the controversy which raged as to
the moral qualities desirable in a stage heroine. But when
the star of Robertson arose, Gilbert had not yet made up his
mind whether the Bar or fugitive journalism offered the
lesser chance of starvation. He had not even written a
burlesque for the Gaiety, for that theatre was still unbuilt.
That he would revolutionise the musical stage, and die worth
£140,000, was beyond his dreams.

It is probable that Society had no more formidable rival
than Rip Van Winkle, in which Jefferson managed a long run,
for those times, at the Adelphi. Only the other day, Mrs
Adelaide Billington commemorated the fiftieth anniversary

239

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

of her appearance as his Gretchen. At the Princess's, Ws
Never Too Late to Mend, with its aggressively realistic prison
episode, induced a " scene " — ^Vining, the manager, publicly in-
sulted the critics from the stage. But the play endured, and is
a profitable undertaking still. It headed the Bancrofts into
London ; and it saw them out, for by the merest coincidence
Harris revived it at Drury Lane a generation later, while they
were making their adieux at the Haymarket. Perhaps one
may infer that Reade's play is, in its way, as characteristic
and as vital a product of the English stage as Society itself.
Elsewhere in our survey of the stage in the sixties we are
confronted with this curious spectacle : Here and there a
perfunctory production of Shakespeare ; but mostly adap-
tations, from the French, not acknowledged — now of senti-
mental melodrama, now of sexual farce. The only original
work of which the English dramatist seemed capable was
burlesque, generally with a classical theme, impiously
perverted, and decorated with word contortion beyond en-
durance. There was burlesque everywhere, if only a short
burlesque, relieving more serious fare. On the night of the
production of Society Miss Wilton's old home, the Strand, was
closed, for re-decoration and the final rehearsals ofVAfricaine,
a travesty of Meyerbeer's opera by Burnand, in which, on
the following Saturday, Ada Swanborough, David James and
Thomas Thorne appeared. A few years later, the two men
were established in the new Vaudeville and on the way to a
vast fortune with Our Boys, for which Byron may have found
a suggestion in the sentiment and style of his lifelong friend,
Tom Robertson. Burnand had another burlesque running,
at the Royalty — b. revision of the Dido which he had written
a few years before for the exploitation of Charles Young as

240

SOCIETY-FIFTY YEARS AGO

its heroine, at the St James's Theatre. The legends of Troy

seemed to have a particular fascination for him. He used

them all over and over again. Here is a characteristic line

from Dido :

" vEneas, son of Venus, sails the sea
Mighty and high^

As Venus' son should bei"

A third buriesque from this prolific pen, Ixion, originally
produced at the Royalty, formed a part of the programme at
Astley's, though Adah Isaacs Menken, in A Child of the Sun,
was doubtless the real attraction. Apropos : in considering
the competitors of the Prince of Wales's Theatre in the sixties
we have again to remember that the West End was not the
close circle it is now. Indeed, the Prince of Wales's itself
would have been out of bounds. Miss Marriott, at Sadler's
Wells, was employing, in performances of Shakespeare and
Sheridan and Sheridan Knowles, a company hardly inferior
to that at Drury Lane. Her programme before me includes
the inevitable burlesque — Arrah ! No Brogue !

From the Haymarket Brother Sam, an adaptation, from the
German, by way of a change, designed to exploit Sothem in a
companion sketch to that of Lord Dundreary, had just been
withdrawn in favour of a programme made up of four pieces
— ^Mathews in Used Up, Three Weeks after Marriage, a
ballet and an extravaganza. At the St James's Theatre Miss
Herbert had proceeded from a sensational success in Lady
Audley^s Secret to another adaptation from a novel by Miss
Braddon by the always available John Oxenford (of The
Times), Eleanor's Victory. Her next important venture was
a revival of The School for Scandal. At the Olympic, Henry
Neville — ^that gracious and charming gentleman who lately
Q 241

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

died, hardly out of harness, having had the rare wisdom to
periodically accommodate his histrionic undertakings, but
never his spirit, to his years — ^was the attraction, with
Kate Terry for his vis-d-vis, in A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing.
The programme was made up with The Cleft Stick, a farce
adapted from the French (by John Oxenford) and a short
burlesque in which Nelly Farren appeared.

At Drury Lane Helen Faucit had completed what was,
in effect, her farewell season. Phelps, in the evening of his
days, was the central figure of a series of Shakespearean
revivals. It was to this adventure that Chatterton referred
in a famous letter to The Times, which, after his death, his
relatives strenuously declared he wrote at the dictation of
Boucicault. " Sir " (wrote Chatterton), " I am neither a
literary missionary nor a martyr. I am simply the manager
of a theatre, a vendor of intellectual entertainment to the
London public, and I found that Shakespeare spelled ruin,
and Byron bankruptcy" — ^this by way of an apology for
Boucicault's Formosa, with its flaming heroine, who at-
tracted all London, but would hardly serve to illumine a
prayer meeting nowadays.

There was a liberal selection of music hall and kindred
entertainments for the Londoner. The newspapers that con-
tained the preliminary announcements of Society contained
the prospectus of the Alhambra Limited : Capital, £100,000,
the first document of the kind on record. Two ballets, Les
Patineurs and a floral ballet, and a few " variety " performers,
whose names have no significance now, formed the nightly
programme. The London Pavilion, just emerging from its
" free and easy " stage, made much of Arthur Lloyd and
William Lingard. The New Oxford Music Hall had challenged

242

SOCIETY-FIFTY YEARS AGO

the Weston's Royal Music Hall to a trial of strength. The
Strand Music Hall, with " Jolly John " Nash for its bright
particular star, was at the height of its brief career. In the
outlying districts were scores of more or less important music
halls. A dozen minstrel troupes fiercely contested the right
to be known as the " Original Christy Minstrels."

All the original performers in Society at Liverpool are dead.
One of them only travelled to London with the piece — ugly,
amiable, incomparable Sophie Larkin, the Lady Ptarmigant.
B5nx)n, with all his admiration for the play; declared that
the critics would fall foul of it, because of the "Owls'
Roost." Marie Wilton fought the issue and won. " Better
be dangerous than dull," she said. Midway between the
Liverpool production and the London production Robertson's
wife died. Their happy life had been a troubled one, and
Robertson's biographer, Edgar Pemberton, declares that
Mrs Robertson's last illness was due to her persistence in
earning, on the stage, her share of the expenses of their little
home. He says that Robertson sent friends to Astley's one
night with orders to hiss her, in the hope of making her hate
the theatre ; but they came back declaring that she looked
so sweet, they could do nothing but applaud ! If this be true,
I cannot say ; but this I can say — to know, and inevitably
to love, Edgar Pemberton himself, made it impossible for the
most adamantine critic to tell him how bad were the plays
he most persistently wrote.

Robertson wrote Ours, Caste, Play, School and M.P. in
rapid succession, and then he died, on the night of the last
performance of his unfortunate play. War, at the St James's
Theatre. It was an injudiciously coloured picture of the
Franco-German War, then fiercely in progress. Its failure

243

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

was kept from the dying man — ^who, however, ingeniously
coaxed the story of its first-night reception from his
schoolboy son.

But the Robertson comedies — ^the half-dozen enumerated
— changed the atmosphere of the London stage. Robertson's
comedies had their critics, kindly and unkindly. They were
ridiculed as the " cult of the cup and saucer." We have
learned to find them old-fashioned now ourselves, but never
so old-fashioned as when a foolish manager sought to make
them modern. When Society was produced the modest style
of the mise en scene was somewhat scornfully noticed. The
Bancrofts lived to encounter more stern and definite reproach
for setting a new fashion of overloading the stage with
furniture, and art impedimenta. That was when they revived
The Rivals at the Haymarket in 1880, when Pinero made his
last appearance on the stage in the capacity of an actor.
The success of The Squire had, on the one hand, made his
work of play- writing more engrossing. But, indeed, his Sir
Antony moved no critic to enthusiasm. The Squire recalls
an angry controversy. Pinero said he "had tried to bring
the scent of the hay over the footlights." Thomas Hardy
and his friends declared that the dramatist had, in effect,
adapted Far from the Madding Crowd to the stage. Pinero
produced evidence of his good faith. The Hardy people
counter-attacked with an authorised version of the
novel, which utterly failed to match Pinero's play in
popularity.

It is remarkable that Henry Morley's Diary of a London
Playgoer^ from 1851 to 1866, which, reprinted from The
Examiner, is the judicial and discerning record of that time,
ignores the Wilton-Byron management, and Society, in which,

244

SOCIETY-FIFTY YEARS AGO

apparently, the critic saw no fulfilment of his ardent hope
for a renascence of the English drama.

On the site of the Prince of Wales's Theatre now stands
the beautiful Scala. It was built, at an inomense cost, by Dr
Distin Maddick, who professed his desire so to conomemorate
the happy memories of his playgoing boyhood. Lady
Bancroft dissolved to tears as she tried to make an opening
speech ; and the ambitious pile is now a moving-picture
house ! It once opened to an audience whose contributions
to the " treasury " did not nearly amount to a sovereign,
the impresario of the moment being oneW. H. C. Nation, who
lately died, worth nearly half-a-million, and whose amuse-
ment, any time this half-century, was to take a West End
Theatre for the performance, by decrepit veterans, of his own
incomprehensible plays.

MS

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE GAIETY AND ITS MANAGERS

The Discovery of Nellie Farren — The Famous Quartette — Edward
Terry's Oddities — A Pageant of Dead Drolls — The Real George
Edwardes

SO long as George Edwardes lived, the Gaiety was
unique amongst London theatres in having had but
two permanent managers during nearly fifty years.
Another distinction it retains. It is the only theatre which
has been faithful to a particular kind of entertainment —
and that, actually suggested by the name of the house.
There have, of course, been intercalary seasons. But in all
probability the traveller returning to London after many
years of absence would still find at the Gaiety a musical
entertainment, making an appeal to mirth.

None can appreciate the difficulty of finding a name for
a new theatre till he is seriously confronted with it. And
so, desperation has sometimes driven the impresario to a
ridiculous incongruity. The Lyceum had to wait long for
Irving ; then indeed its style became " curiously felicitous."
But who ever saw a vaudeville at the little theatre in the
Strand ? How seldom has the entertainment at the Lyric
or the Apollo been musical ? More remarkable has been the
ruthless dissipation of almost every tradition clinging to
particular houses. Here, once, you would find inevitably
Shakjspeare, there comic opera, elsewhere characteristic

246

THE GAIETY AND ITS MANAGERS

comedy. Now, the bewildered country cousin has no
certain goal but the Gaiety.

Truly, there has been a ceaseless process of evolution.
When John Hollingshead, in 1878, became the tenant of the
new house which Mr Lionel Lawson of The Telegraph had
built on the site of the old Strand Music Hall (and much more
ground), his programme formula was very like that of what,
years later, we called a triple bill. In little comedies and
musical pieces the most distinguished actors and actresses of
the day appeared. The earliest burlesques were of no more
than an hour's duration, a fact which seems to be overlooked
by many modem writers on the subject. It was not until
Christmas, 1880, that the first three-act burlesque was pro-
duced. The Forty Thieves. Hollingshead's curious apology
was his desire to work Out a " story."

In one of the recently published obituaries of George
Edwardes he was described as the inventor of musical
comedy, as a pioneer of burlesque and as the discoverer of
Nellie Farren — statements which follow the three degrees of
comparison in inaccuracy. Nellie Farren, bom of a most
remarkable stage family — it can cite four generations, or
five — and trained at the East End, was not even Hollings-
head's " discovery." If anyone could claim the distinction
it was Horace Wigan. But 'tis a foolish word, anyhow.
Genius will out.

Nellie Farren was a member of Hollingshead's company
from the outset. Doubtless he did appreciate and encourage
her peculiar facility in burlesque. Nellie Farren 's earliest
vis-d-vis was Joe Eldred, an excellent comedian, who
was introduced to theatrical life by that philandering priest
and passionate elocutionist, the Reverend J. C. M. Bellew.

247

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

Eldred played Micawber in private life even more remark-
ably than on the stage. With very little trouble he could
produce an extraordinary likeness to Disraeli, of whom he
used to give an impersonation, with an effective speech, at
benefits. Once, during a contested election in the country,
he mischievously performed this feat on the balcony of a
hotel.

For a long time, in succession to Eldred, Toole was the
Gaiety comedian. The " famous quartette " was not formed
imtil 1876 — ^when Little Don Ccesar was produced, Terry
playing the King of Spain. The programme on this occasion
included a farce by Robert Soutar, Nellie Farren's journalist-
actor husband, for many years the Gaiety stage manager,
and a " farcical drama " by H. J. Byron, The Bull by the
Horns. Already the superior person was attackiag the
Gaiety, and Hollingshead, nothing loath, entered into a
furious controversy at this juncture with The Times critic,
though he had not yet invented that immortal phrase, " the
sacred lamp of burlesque." This first appeared in his
Christmas advertisements in 1880.

Terry was the greatest actor in burlesque I ever saw. He
had had a long training in Shakespeare, imder Irving's pre-
ceptor, Charles Calvert, before he came to the Strand, whence
Hollingshead stole him. His whimsical face, his air of
melancholy, his unexpected vocal inflections, all helped.
But Terry had the secret of burlesque^-he treated it au
grand sSrieux.

He was the one member of the Gaiety company who
kept aloof from its enervating amusements. A penurious
creature, he saved all he could from his hundred-a-week
salary, and made money out of the vacation tour of the

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THE GAIETY AND ITS MANAGERS

})rovinces, which was specially permitted to him, with the
use of the Gaiety material, in his contract. He promptly
seceded when it appeared that the Hollingshead manage-
ment was making for disaster. Terry found an expression
of his more generous side in Freemasonry, in the practice of
which he was of the religious- fanatic order — it engaged his
thoughts, his time, his money. He could have filled a
museum with his regalia. Next, he loved parochial and
magisterial responsibilities. When he settled into Barnes
he had a curious greeting. "Be you Terry the actor?"
said a doddering veteran — ^the sexton. Terry delightedly
admitted his identity. "Oi buried Drinkwater Meadows,"
cried the old man, shaking with laughter as he walked away.

My last curious encounter with Terry was at the Central
Criminal Court, on a Grand Jury. I promptly proposed him
for chairman, and I suppose he never spent two happier days.
Terry was always the laudator temporis acte when burlesque
was mentioned. But his attempt to revive it, with Kate
Vaughan, in King Kodak, at his own theatre, was a terrible
experience, and a remarkable proof of George Edwardes's
wisdom in rejecting every tradition of the Gaiety which he
saw had really lost its force. In this he differed entirely
from Arthur Collins who, when he became manager of Drury
Lane, was perfectly superstitious in the care with which he
retained every important member of the " old governor's "
staff.

Kate Vaughan, whom Hollingshead took from the music
halls, had already gone her way. Royce was in Australia.
He is home again, and acting, in his vigorous seventies.
Edwardes was joyously free from the " old gang " when he
came into control of the Gaiety. He kept the invaluable

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FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

Meyer Lutz, but readily quarrelled with the veteran, at the
psychological moment. Aad he was unfeignedly glad when
the most wonderful testimonial ever organised by the public
relieved him of a terrible anxiety on account of the hopelessly
stricken favourite, Nellie Farren.

Hollingshead always explained the collapse of his manage-
ment by the fact that a long illness left him with shattered
nerves, which he brought to a premature resumption of
business. " Six months' holiday and I would still have been
Practical John," said he. I wonder if he was ever Practical
John ! Anyway, he resorted to this impossible partner and
the other, and the troubles of the famous old theatre were like
to become a scandal. George Edwardes, who had done a
little touring management, in Ireland and elsewhere, as an
alternative to cramming for the army, thereafter, settling
into London as acting manager for D'Oyly Carte, with whom
he had family ties, became Hollingshead's partner. But the
two men were never in sympathy, and Hollingshead soon
went his way, leaving a rather important legacy. Little Jack
Sheppard, which he commissioned and cast. Several failures
had possibly aroused him to a supreme effort, for Little Jack
Sheppard was handed over to his successor in good order
and proved extremely popular. The book was by "Pot"
Stephens, for many years an effective member of The Daily
Telegraph staff, and " Bill " Yardley, who was so (eventually)
imfortunate as to score the first " century " in a university
cricket match. It helped to divert him from the Bar, and
made of him a thriftless Bohemian — dramatic critic of The
Sporting Times, as " Bill of the Play," writer of burlesques and
farces that rarely succeeded, but dear, good fellow always.

Friday afternoon used to see an inroad of The Sporting

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THE GAIETY AND ITS MANAGERS

Times staff to Romano's bar, with such balances of salary
as had remained due after the mid-weekly inroads ; and in
their pockets proof slips, much in demand, of their salacious
stories ere John Corlett's discreet blue pencil had ruinously
gone through. Pot Stephens tried to establish a combined
rival to The Era and to The Sporting Times as The Topical
Times, but it had a troubled career and is no more ; neither
is Pot Stephens, nor, while we are recalling the brave days of
The Sporting Times, are Corlett, Shirley Brooks, Willie
Goldberg, Arthur Binstead, Edward Spencer, Cecil Raleigh,
and James Davis. Corlett alone just lived to see the fiftieth
anniversary of the sturdy child he had adopted.

Here is a story characteristic of all its parties. Yardley
had some rights in a play, which George Edwardes wanted.
Unwilling, always, to do an unpleasant thing he could
delegate, Edwardes entrusted the mission to the eager and
dependable Arthur Cohen, who hailed me from a hansom.
" Have you seen Bill Yardley ? I've been driving about all
day with a hundred poimds for him." Soon I encountered
Yardley. He knew all about the hundred pounds, and had
spent the day hiding in strange bars lest he should meet
Cohen and be tempted by hunger to sell his birthright for a
mess of pottage.

At the outset I spoke of the Gaiety as unique, in one respect
or two. It is unique in this also : no theatre in the world has
such a complement of grey ghosts. To the public it appeals
as the supreme expression of the " light side " of the stage.
Its favourite performers have won and held the affection of
the playgoer as none others have even come near winning it.
Within its walls — ^taking the two Gaieties in continuity —
there have been amazing outbursts of emotion.

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FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

What a grim companion picture one could draw ; what a
pageant of dead drolls one could conjure up — not of those
earlier histrions, or of the later Arthur Williams, who died in
the fulness of time. The Gaiety has seen such tragedies !
One of the earliest acquisitions of the new management was
George Stone, who began life in a booth, and was, when he
came into his own, acclaimed a comedian of rare unction and
humour. Typhoid, got in an unsanitary dressing-room, bore
him off in his prime. I especially remember his Valentine,
in Faust. The Mephistopheles was Edward Lonnen, another
booth-graduate — another early victim, in this case of con-
sumption, which a life less strenuous than that of a Gaiety
favourite might have combated. The Marguerite was
Florence St John, whose first singing master dismissed her
because she sang " like a bird," and needed no tuition. Her
heart was golden, too. Poor, lovable, incorrigible Jack !
She contrived to crowd four unhappy marriages into a life
that otherwise had been much longer. To support her
first sickly husband she sang in the streets. She was a
star in grand opera — in Durand's provincial company,
which probably suggested the greater enterprise of Carl
Rosa — ^before she took to opera bouffe and burlesque.
It is certain that she loved Marius deeply, and she broke
into passionate weeping when she appreciated the sordid
charges he brought against her in that memorable divorce
case.

I knew both the parties to the fourth marriage well enough
to suggest that it might prove disastrous. And so it did.
" How true were your words " is my last remembered speech
of a sweet woman and a brilliant artist, then, in the face of
painful illness, beginning a new chapter in her career, as a

252

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THE GAIETY AND ITS MANAGERS

comedian, for the wonderful voice had lost its certainty.
Death, maybe, was kind. Think again, of Kate Vaughan,
buried in a strange land; of pretty little Katie Seymour,
and Katie James.

Lonnen's successor as Mephisto was Edmund Payne,
destined to be associated with George Edwardes till the active
business life of the manager ended — though the actor fell ill
and died, while the manager still lingered. Payne, too, was
a country lad, of humble origin, but when he got to London
his comical appearance as the call boy in In Town, and the
suggestion of humour that may have been in him, kept him
a favourite for twelve years. Few men prospered so greatly
with so little effort and so little acquired skill. A lisp, a few
steps of dancing, a Peck's-bad-boy grin and five feet nothing
were his stock in trade. Once an accident to his knee kept
him an invahd for months. He had a most productive
benefit; bulletins were issued, as it might be of a royal
personage, and the Gaiety was packed to the doors to welcome
him back. A thrill of horror pervaded the audience when
the poor little man, overdoing his antics, in his excitement
broke his knee again, and was again consigned to a sick-bed
from which it seemed he would never rise. It is probable his
vitality was thereafter impaired. For he was a careful and
domesticated creature.

It is safe to say that no actress, for thirty years from the
seventies, was so beloved as Nellie Farren. "The boys
welcome their Nellie " was the inscription on an immense
panel of linen which, too full for words, they hung from the
gallery when she returned from a long absence abroad. This
sentence epitomised a volume of theatrical history. No less
a sum than seven thousand pounds was raised by a benefit

253

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

performance when her need was made known, and Nellie
Farren's funeral had the dimensions of a royal function,
though a long and painful illness, tenderly watched, had
prepared her admirers for her death.

Probably the sudden death of Fred Leslie made the deeper
impression on the popular imagination. He was a com-
paratively new favourite, a youngster from the city, whom
HoUingshead engaged for Little Jack Sheppard, on the
strength of his success in Rip Van Winkle. What Leslie
would have become — ^who shall speculate ? His Rip sug-
gested one thing. His visit to America sent him home a
premature Seymour Hicks, restless, fantastically inventive,
full of strange tricks. His career was short, but he managed
to accumulate sixteen thousand pounds.

When George Edwardes died the pens of " One Who Knew
Him " and the delineator of '.' The Real. George Edwardes "
were busy. But I am afraid neither revealed the man, nor
could do so. Edwardes's tremendous asset was his nation-
ality. He had the engaging manner, the charming in-
genuousness, the deadly skill in persuasion, which are the
priceless inheritance of some Irishmen. And, while he had,
of course, moments of intense emotion, he could repress it.
Rutland Barrington tells of an encounter between Edwardes
and an actor, a very old friend, in the Strand. Edwardes
acknowledged the other's greeting, chatted pleasantly of
early days, professed delight at the meeting, and said : " Come
along and see me one day. I'd like to find something for you
at the Gaiety." " But I've been there these three years ! "
said the other. One is asked, I suppose, to receive this
as a characteristic instance of absent-mindedness. It was
probably a pose, of many possibilities. No keener man of

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THE GAIETY AND ITS MANAGERS

business than Edwardes existed. He perpetrated the wildest
extravagances, but deliberately, and with ulterior motives. He
was ridiculously generous, in salaries and in presents, to some
of the actresses in his employment — it was his way of avoid-
ing argument and disturbance. But, all things being equal,
the Gaiety bargains were hard bargains, and contracts
needed to be carefully considered, even referred to experi-
enced advisers. Edwardes had a way of making appoint-
ments for business conferences at strange hours. Find him
lolling on a settee, at midnight, with a pipe in his mouth as a
relief to his habitual cigar, tired, after a day's racing — and
he was at his deadliest. Nothing so impressed his business
methods as the style of the men whom, in succession, he had
for his confidential advisers. Dead is Michael Levenston ;
dead is Arthur Cohen. When the new Gaiety was built
there were three deep niches for statuary in the wall of the
first story. Who can recall Charles Brookfield's awful jest ?
I won't, here.

Edwardes had a style of dress that would have looked
strange on a less handsome, well-groomed, engaging man — a
lounge suit and a silk hat, almost invariably. He had, like
HoUingshead, a high-pitched voice, with a plaintive note.
He entertained largely at the Savoy and Romano's, and
keenly appreciated the " best boy " in the economy of the
Gaiety. He was an inveterate gambler, now rich, now poor
— never so poor as at the moment of producing The Merry
Widow — on horses, in stocks and at the all-night card-table,
which was his greatest delight. To the public he stood for
a heroic development of popular entertainment. " George
Edwardes is dead ; musical comedy is dead — Quorum magna
'pars fuity It is all true, and yet Edwardes had no

255

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

inventiveness, no initiative and no sparkle of personal wit.
" No ! No ! I don't like that at all. Try something else "
was his constant cry at rehearsal — stimulant but not
inspiring. But he had an exquisite charm of personality.
The pathos of his last years, a war prisoner in Austria,
touched every heart, and I doubt if there was a dry eye in
the church of the Jesuit Fathers, Farm Street, when the last
services of the Church were performed. His death removed
the most engaging figure in modern management.

256

CHAPTER XXXV

MY OLD ALBUM

Three Famous Clowns — The Queen's Jester — An Interesting Interview —
Eccentricities of Celebrities — Mrs Weldon and Gounod

IF ever Fate should enforce the surrender of my ragged
regiment of books, the last to march must be an old
album. It was full before the spirit of modem art
possessed photography. It has a moustached Henry Irving,
Ellen Terry in a crinoline, Lottie Venne in an Early Victorian
"pork pie," Mrs Langtry with something like a chignon, and
a strange structure called, I think, a pannier. There is a
blank page, from which the perennial Prince Paragon tore a
hated record of her teens. She is forgiven ; but no more is
that sacred volume entrusted to fingers that would unkindly
touch the face of Time.

For a frontispiece stands the memorial of my first romance
• — ^Minnie Warren, who reached town in the company of
General Tom Thumb. Madam Thumb, a little larger than
her man, played propriety. Minnie sordidly sold her
pictures, at the price of a shilling, but if one could lay his
hand upon his heart and declare that his years were fewer
than ten, she added a kiss. Tom Thumb died — others
filched his name, but the original Tom Thumb passed away
in 1890. Minnie Warren still lives. She married some
modem correspondent to Count Borulaski, and, as a Coimtess,
not so long since revisited London. We talked of old days,
R 257

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

but all her politeness could not hide the truth. She had
forgotten !

I see the picture of an immense, benevolent-looking negro,
rudely inscribed Macomo. It brings back to memory a
travelling wild beast show, long since absorbed by the
Bostock family, I believe — ^that of Manders. Macomo was a
sailor, who volunteered at Greenwich Fair, and for years
enjoyed great fame as the Lion King. I hate performances
with animals, and never unwillingly witnessed one that I did
not seek forgiveness from the great brown eyes of a most
imderstanding bull-dog. But show folk, who often have this
feeling too, when you get to their hearts, make a few excep-
tions of trainers, and declare that Macomo had a deep love of
the brutes, who certainly responded to him as I have never
seen wild beasts respond. Time after time one read in the
newspapers that he had come to the end that was universally
predicted for him. But he died a natural death.

" W. F. Wallet, the Queen's Jester, in his seventy-second
year " is written in a firm hand across the portrait of a hand-
some old man, in the conventional costume of his kind. An
unwarranted assumption of a long extinct title, as you can
easily assure yourself, on reference to the erudite Dr Doran's
record of "Court Fools." But Wallet had appeared before
Queen Victoria and her young people on several occasions,
and a royal smile was easily construed into a royal sanction !
Wallefs Memoirs are the only important record we have,
from within, of circus life. He was the son of a Nottingham
tradesman, and, when he had made his mark, returned to his
old home to marry into the well-known musical family of
Farmer — ^John Farmer, the Harrow professor, was his
brother-in-law. Another was Henry Farmer, writer of the

258

MY OLD ALBUM

unforgettable First Love waltz. Wallet, were he to be
revived, would probably be an incomparable compire of
revue to-day. As it was, he delivered addresses full of quaint
philosophy, pleasant jocularity and Shakespearean tags. He
travelled the world over and made and lost fortunes — s,
formal, gracious, entertaining old man, who made one turn
instinctively to a well-known essay of Lamb, for his
counterpart.

Three most sedate old gentlemen look like physicians in
consultation. They are the famous clowns of my generation
— ^Harry Boleno, whom I never saw, Harry Payne and Watty
Hildyard. The last was incomparably the finer. Payne
became a clown by accident. He was a mimic and dancer,
and was figuring as a bear in a Covent Garden pantomime
when Flexmore, the great clown of the day, fell ill. " Stand
by, young Payne; I don't think Flexmore's long for this
world," said the manager. And surely enough, Payne had
to skip out of his bearskin one night, into the motley. He
was clown thereafter in some fifty pantomimes — a large,
prosperous-looking man, who lived in a dull house at Camden
Town, and went to the city twice a week for a report on his
investments.

Watty Hildyard could go back to the pantomime with an
"opening," when the comedian of a dramatic plot was
mysteriously changed into the clown. Throughout the long
run of an Adelphi pantomime he nightly, under these con-
ditions, went up a " trap " as Toole went down, but never
met his alter ego. Watty Hildyard recalled a Covent
Garden pantomime to which Queen Victoria brought Prince
Albert Edward and the Princess Victoria, and soundly
smacked her son and heir for snatching the opera glasses

259

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

from his sister! Pleasantry and humour exuded from the
httle man, who inherited a small fortune from a religious
aunt, with the condition that he left the stage and changed his
name. So he spent a peaceful old age at Greenwich, con-
cealing his identity from new neighbours and old friends.
" You won't give me away ? " he said to me one night, after
he had tenderly displayed his old dress over a cup of tea.
But he stole away to Drury Lane from year to year, and
talked old times with Payne.

Here is a picture of Toole as Caleb Plummer. His first
Tilly Slowboy, it is interesting to recall, was Nellie Farren,
and his first Dot, Carlotta Addison, as sweet in her old age as
she could have been in her girlhood. Across the comer he
has sprawled : "I like to get as near nature as I can for four-
pence." Toole was an old man when I got to know him
personally. He cherished a love of young society — ^the boys
of his company had to do escort duty when he took his daily
walk of the provincial cities, on tour. He sedulously lived
up to his reputation for practical joking, feeling that a quip
and a crank was expected of him. I love to remember that
occasion on which he was hoist with his own petard. He
gave a garden-party, for which he made careful preparation
by tying bunches of grapes to holly bushes, peaches to yew-
trees, and so on. When many strange folk were found
mingling with his guests, it proved that two distinguished
actors had stationed themselves at the outer gate and
tempted all passers-by to come in and see the show. I have,
I suppose, the last picture taken of Toole, by Ralph Lumley,
the dramatist. The background is Mrs John Wood's garden,
at Birchington — ^Lumley married her daughter and some-
while successor at Drury Lane. I recall Mrs Wood for a

260

MY OLD ALBUM

passionate protest against "interviewing." She declared
the modem habit of taking the publie behind the scenes to be
degrading, and solemnly prophesied that the public would
cordially hate the theatre, when its last vestige of illusion had
gone.

Apropos interviewing : to a portrait of Cecil Rhodes I have
appended a memorial of a journalistic failure. One wintry
morning in 1892 I went out from Plymouth on the mail
tug to intercept the great man on his way to London. The
steamer should stay a quarter of an hour. I presented the
credential of a great London daily. "So," said Rhodes,
" you've come all the way from London to make me talk ?
And I have come all the way from South Africa to keep my
mouth shut."

Toole left a vast fortune — ^nearly eighty thousand pounds —
and a wonderful will. In its multitude of bequests it was a
diary of his friendships — the fluctuation of which was recorded
in innumerable codicils and corrections. Henry Neville left
a similar, and to his executors even more troublesome, docu-
ment. Here is Neville, in the nineties — finely fixed, with a
touch of old fashion in his frock coat and his cravat, his hair
permitting a cherished Brutus still. He had a tricky pose,
three-quarter front, which conveyed the idea, in a picture, or
in a big stage situation, that he was nearly an inch taller than
actually was the case. Neville was terribly sensitive on the
point of his age. As we turned away from Pettitt's grave
together, he remarked, of the inscription on the coffin : " The
truth at last ! In the same hour, you shall know it of me,
dear friend, but not before." I suppose he was still early in
the seventies.

Portraits of Sims and Pettitt are side by side — Sims, in a

261

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

smart frock coat, with a delicate waist, a polished silk hat,
button-hole and cane, quite the hero of his own Crutch and
Toothpick. Pettitt carefully measured the print, and a day
or two later stuck in a photograph carefully a little larger.

A group from Dearer than Life at the Queen's Theatre
is interesting — Irving, Toole, Wyndham, Ada Dyas, John
Clayton and Henrietta Hodson. But still more interesting
from its inscription : " I picked this up in the Walworth Road
and thought you would like to have it. — Leno." The little
comedian developed that ducal style of signature. He was
an ardent lover of the serious theatre and was a regular
visitor to the Lyceum. He had a passion for making up
in Irving's characters and having photographs taken.
Charles I. and Richard III. figure among my treasures.

Early one Monday morning Pettitt and I terminated a late
sitting at Henry Neville's hospitable fireside, to find Pettitt's
brougham axle deep in snow, the driver inside, very drunk.
We mounted the box and started Londonwards, Pettitt driv-
ing. Near Chalk Farm he ran into a post. From the interior

of the brougham came an angry oath. " My , what a

coachman." At Drury Lane next night I was telling the story
in Harris's convivial comer of the saloon. Charles Warner
entered and overheard. "Pettitt," said he, "convulsed the
Green Room Club with that story at dinner to-night — ^but,
with you as the driver."

To a photograph of Irving I have attached a note in his
handwriting, which summarises the diplomacy and sweetness
of the man. It was induced by the first notice of an import-
ant production, with which I was entrusted as a budding
critic. Addressed to the writer came an instant letter:
" I thank you for your gracious words. — ^Henry Irving."

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MY OLD ALBUM

A carefully dishevelled creature, with hair and beard
streaming at full length, loose collar and cravat, is Henry
Arthur Jones, now, like Sir Arthur Pinero, sedulously
trimmed ; then, just bridging the abyss between commerce
and the stage, and dressing the part of the dreamy dramatist.
One night, in the Green Room Club, he adventured some
strong opinions on play-writing, which angered Pot
Stephens, who, with no more than a poor opera book or two
to his name, turned on the stranger, ridiculed his appearance
and his views, and asked him how he dare hold forth in
such company ! Poor Pot was silenced long ago, but Mr
Jones, as the parliamentary reporters say, is " left speaking."

Here is Mrs Weldon, that mad, benevolent and beneficent
creature. I know little of her tragedy, something of her
eccentricity, much of her good heart. The picture is in-
scribed : " To H. G. Hibbert. B.P.P.I. ," and proceeds to explain
that the ring on her little finger was the gift of Gounod, with
whom she had quarrelled bitterly. Her exclusion from the
Birmingham Festival, where she meant to expound him,
settled the right of a theatrical manager to absolute discre-
tion in the sale of tickets. But Madam Georgina got her
own back when Mors et Vita was done, at the Royal Albert
Hall, for the delectation of the Queen. It was greatly
desired that the composer should conduct. An appeal to
Mrs Weldon brought this reply : " I am more than astonished
at your impudence. I have this morning returned from
Paris, where I have successfully set everything in motion to
obtain an exequatur of my verdict against Mr Gounod. If
he attempts to set his foot in England as matters now stand,
I shall immediately have him arrested."

I asked the meaning of "B.P.P.I.," and got a letter in

263

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

Madam's singularly neat and legible writing : " Ignoramus I
Get a cheap edition of Cobbett, who called journalists (Gk)d
forgive him) the Best possible public instructors."

Once I showed my old album to a distinguished actor. I
saw him conning with interest the picture of a beautiful
woman, always unknown to me, and eagerly asked if he could
identify the dame. " My first wife, damn her," was the
quick response.

264

CHAPTER XXXVI

THE ROMANCE OF THE CINEMA

Its Introduction to London -A Protege of the Music Hall— Millions
Made, and Lost — Its Wondrous Future

OF all the children to whom the music hall has been
foster mother, none was so rapid in its growth, so
wayward, so fruitful in surprise as the cinemato-
graph. And, after twenty years of remarkable achieve-
ment, it is still, in the belief of them that know it best, but on
the threshold of its greatness. "The British public," said
one recorder of its early exhibition, " has a new toy, of which
it is not likely to tire quickly " ; just as an American writer
of the first importance had been interested, but found the
cinematograph "a curiosity of no particular importance."
A toy ; a curiosity !

Moving pictures, it is still necessary to explain to the
technically unlearned, do not move. This illusion was pro-
duced by the earliest scientific toy-makers. All the early
photographers strenuously endeavoured to capture impres-
sions of movement. Edison casually gave to the world a
contrivance known as the kinetoscope, which he did not
effectually protect. And from that many inventors toiled
simultaneously to develop what we know as the cinemato-
graph.

To the imagination of the Londoner, Robert W. Paul made
the first and the most prolonged appeal. He was a craftsman

265

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

of delicate and ingenious scientific instruments, and, having
made a greater, or at any rate a more important contribu-
tion to the development of the cinematograph in England
than any other, having taught many men of more heroic
enterprise, or better luck, how to become millionaires, he
retired from the field and returned contentedly to his first
calling.

Paul illustrates the romance of invention with a homely
picture. When, in the small hours of one morning, his
experimental pictures were first endowed with life, in his
Hatton Garden workshop, his men uttered a great shout of
victory, the police were alarmed and broke in. As a sedative,
an impromptu exhibition was administered to them. And
so, in the winter of 1895, the cinematograph came to London.
In a few weeks it was brought to the notice of Augustus
Harris, and, frankly regarding it as an entertainment novelty
of an ephemeral quality, he tried a cinema side-show at
Olympia, where it competed with Richardson's show and
kindred delights.

Meanwhile Lumi^re, a Parisian photographer, had arrived
at similar results, from a manipulation of the kinetoscope.
Trewey, the juggler, and exponent of comic expression with
the aid of a flexible felt hat, brought the Lumiere apparatus
to London, and was certainly ahead of Paul in impressing
the cinematograph on the great mass of pleasure-seekers.
The music hall agents and music hall managers were in-
credulous. Trewey resorted to the home of the scientific
toy — ^the Polytechnic, and was looked upon as having
achieved the finality of his mission. But he persisted. He
arranged an afternoon season at the Empire, in the early
days of March 1896. He soon insinuated the cinematograph

266

THE ROMANCE OF THE CINEMA

to the evening programme here. And the reign of the
moving picture began. I remember asking Trewey what
he believed to be its possibilities in expeditiousness. He
declared that if the pr( gress of improvement were main-
tained a day would come when an occurrence might be repro-
duced on the screen within forty-eight hours. Whether or
not my old friend lived to see his estimate corrected to
minutes, I know not. Paul was in immediate succession.
Toward the end of March, 1896, his so-called Animatograph
was established at the Alhambra, where a tentative engage-
ment, for weeks, was extended to one of years' duration.
Indeed, I do not believe that either of the two great Leicester
Square houses has been without some form of animated
photograph in all the meantime. Soon a finer apparatus
than that either of Paul or of Lumi^re arrived at the Palace
— known as the American Biograph, which for many
months drew all London. Its pictures were larger, steadier,
more actual. Before the end of 1896 there was not a
music hall without its equipment of animated photography.
Its scientific, industrial, commercial, and above all its
tremendous art possibilities, were not yet conceived — or
perceived. Let me, as merely of the ministry of popular
entertainment, emphasise this fact. The greatest, or at any
rate the most appellant, scientific invention of our time,
was nurtured in the English music hall, just as the electric
light was first exploited as the advertisement of a theatre.
A third Londoner completed the group of the pioneers
of animated photography — a young American salesman of
apparatus, Charles Urban, to whom the higher development
of the new invention — its use for illustrating travel, the
wonders of nature, and of scientific investigation — has

267

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

always appealed, more than its use for frivolous amusement —
on occasion, debased amusement. And two young Frenchmen,
the Brothers Pathe, who began life as the exhibitors of a
gramophone at Paris, quickly built up an immense business
for the manufacture and sale of apparatus and films.

Imagination recoils from an attempt to suggest the
magnitude of the cinematograph to-day. Estimate Eng-
land's inexplicably small share, then multiply it many
times, and begin the endeavour to appreciate the fact that
the cinematograph represents the third largest industry of
America, where millionaires operate in its finance as they do
in public loans, in railways, miaes and steel; where great
theatrical managers, dramatists and actors have silenced its
menace by alliance, where they think nothing of an expendi-
ture equalling ten thousand pounds on a production, and
where they maintaia upwards of six hundred picture
theatres in a single city, Chicago.

Is English enterprise to follow in the wake of this huge
enterprise ? There are, at any rate, points of remarkable
likeness in the evolution of the cinematograph here. First
of all, the fact is to be noted that the pioneers of the in-
dustry, in both countries, nearly all retired — a few of them
enriched, some of them disappoiated and disaffected, some
of them utterly broken. There never was a business of such
strange mutations. It has been called by one of its most
important adherents, Fred Martin — one of my boys, when he
first of all aspired to joumaHsm — who is mainly responsible
for the manipulation of the exclusive picture and the iatro-
duction of the five-reel or " full performance " film here, in
preference to a programme of many items, " The Topsy
Turvy Industry. ' '

268

THE ROMANCE OF THE CINEMA

One of its wealthiest men to-day was a travelling show-
man. But the experience of the travelling sho\\TTQen as a
conmiunity was very different. To a man they abandoned
their waxworks and their freaks and their marionettes for
the cinematograph. I recall a St Giles's Fair at Oxford —
tlaat historic function still retained, but I think then lost,
its boyish fascination for me — when, of fifty-one booths,
forty-nine enclosed crude cinematograph shows, mostly
exploiting vulgar comedy. The travelling showman came
next to the music hall in popularising the cinematograph as
an entertainment and in supporting it as a manufacturing
industry. But he was hoist with his own petard. His
success stimulated local enterprise, and when he revisited an
old pitch he found a permanent picture theatre established.

Ruin spread among the travelling showmen and a new era
in the history of the cinematograph began. Not the Klon-
dyke attracted such a ragged swarm of adventurers. The
collapse of the skating rink fever had left numerous sites and
building shells free. Wild-cat speculators attracted millions
of money from ignorant speculators, always fascinated by
the business of pleasure. You could coimt picture palaces
by the score in a brief ride across London. Again a debacle ;
and the official liquidator busy. But out of the wreck a
new, resplendent picture palace — the ideal picture palace — is
slowly rising. Its architects have expanded to one hundred
thousand pounds in outlay on a structure.

For the short, amusing picture play there will always be
a particular market. Elemental amusement will never lose
its charm and importance — ^not till the love of toys is dead
in small children and great. But the cinematograph has left
the nursery, and — still with imcertaia eyes — ^is surveying the

269

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

world. It has fascinated nearly every great actor, nearly
every great author of our time, and liberally rewarded
their adhesion to its cause. It is forming its own schools
of financiers, and artists, and mechanicians, formerly drawn
from everywhere and anywhere. The millionaires of the
moving picture world include a clothing salesman, an
itinerant conjurer and a music hall "lightning cartoonist."
The redoubtable Charlie Chaplin, now drawing his weekly
emolument in thousands of dollars, was a " Lancashire clog
dancer." The greatest producer of the day, D. W. Griffith,
who begins his cash account with a retaining fee of four
hundred pounds a week, was but a few years ago a
desperate actor. Mr Frederick A. Talbot, the historian of
the cinema, estimated that four million people visit picture
palaces daily in Great Britain. They pay fifteen million
pounds out of their pockets annually into the box-offices of
the cinema halls, and one person out of every three hundred
and fifty one passes in the street depends upon the pictures
for a livelihood. Of what individual investment may mean
Mr R. G. Knowles is an example. He has outlaid twenty-
five thousand pounds on the material of his travel lectures,
and his wife, once Miss Winifred Johnson, abandoned the
musical career she so adorned to become his secretary,
editress, librarian.

270

CHAPTER XXXVII

MEDITATIONS AMONG THE TOMBS

A Fleet Street Graveyard — Fortunes sunk in Newspapers — Popular
Fiction and its Purveyors — Comic Journalism — The Halfpenny
Press — The Sunday Dinner of Demos

WAR has innumerable victims that reach no roll of
honour — ^which is only my important introduction
to the remark that upwards of fifty periodical
publications have quietly slipped away during the past
eighteen months. The good rule that one should " always
verify citations " has induced a few fascinated hours spent
with the Press Directory, not indeed to gaze with a layman's
wonder on the vastness and variety of journalistic enter-
prise, but to authenticate some milestones, to scrape the
moss from here and there a memorial, and to ponder a
Uttle on the infinite mutations of popular taste in ephemeral
literature.

It is conceivable that many of the newspaper proprietors
who bowed to the pressure of the war accepted their fate
gladly. For the percentage of newspapers that show a hand-
some profit is very small ; of newspapers that just pay,
modest in its proportions ; and of newspapers that steadily
deplete the banking accounts of their infatuated owners,
immense. Millions must have sunk in the wreckage of
journalism. As I write, an historic newspaper is in the
market once more. It has steadily lost twelve thousand

271

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

pounds a year these many years. I wonder if it has ever
paid.

One's survey may include another kind of popular publica-
tion. I have spoken of Henry Morley in his capacity of a
dramatic critic. He was a person of various erudition and
immense industry. His range extended to the most remark-
able book ever accumulated about a form of amusement that
most folk account vulgar — ^the Memorials of Bartholomew
Fair, with its merry-andrews and its monsters. We owe him,
indirectly, an enterprise that may rank with a university,
" Everyman's Library " ; for the finely selected and concisely
annotated series of classics which he issued as " Morley 's
Universal Library " through the chief apostle of cheap
literature, Routledge, thirty years ago, made accessible,
for pence, books which even the catholicity of " Bohn's
Library " had not included, for as many shillings. But I
recall an earlier library than Morley's, with its many
successors. Does the " Cottage Library " still exist, I
wonder. What joyous feasts were encased in those gaudily
bound, much-gilded little volumes, issued by some firm
in the north. The " best seller " was a delectable story of
humble domesticity called The Basket of Flowers. But it
included many more considerable works.

I cannot remember a time when I did not read with
facility, nor when I did not enjoy the unguided freedom of
a huge library. But it did not prevent an occasional surfeit
of mud pies ! My first administration of literary criticism
was thundered from an evangelical pulpit by a now venerable
Dean, whose utter want of sympathy with exuberant youth
— worse, with every aspiration to culture, soured my boy-
hood ; and whom I lately encountered in the Strand with a

272

MEDITATIONS AMONG THE TOMBS

spasm of painful memory — a very effigy of Calvin in gaiters.
The curiously assorted subjects of his denunciation were
William Black's Daughter of Heth, admittedly judged
from its scriptural title, but otherwise unread; and a
random threepenn'orth from a newsvendor (so are some
sermons written), to wit, The Boys of England, The Young
Men of Great Britain, and The Sons of Britannia, publica-
tions which enjoyed an immense sale forty years ago,
and from whose pages emerged heroes to be separately
honoured by the publication of their particular adventures
in weekly numbers, as Jack Harkaway^s School Days, Jack
Harkaway at Oxford, Jack Harkaway Afloat. Jack had a
rival in Tom Wildrake. And both had a stalwart assailant,
more effective than my Dean, in dear old George Henty, who
poured out wholesome fiction for youngsters in prodigious
quantities ; but also found time for much conviviality at the
Savage Club. One George Emmett was the prosperous pro-
prietor of many curious publications for boys. He was a
great collector of armour, and a persistent Rrst nighter at the
old Lyceum, where he once got to blows with Joseph Hatton
about a disputed stall.

My hunger for fiction in due course engorged The London
Journal, The London Reader and Bow Bells — all gone, too.
Will I ever know a pleasure equal to that of reading the
interminable — but who ever wanted to reach its end ? —
Stanfield Hall ! The writer was a much-esteemed and mild-
mannered man named Smith. Stanfield Hall, in Norfolk,
was one of the oldest manor houses in England. It owed its
greatest fame to the murder of its several residents by James
Bloomfield Rush, whose order for dinner, shortly before his
execution, was, " Pig to-day, with plenty of plum sauce."

8 273

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

In days to come I learned the secret of such authorship.
The pay of the pubhshers was small, but so dependable !
The novelist would dump down a weekly instalment of
manuscript on a dirty counter, and wait while the cashier
took from a hook the galley proof of the previous week's
work, measure it by the yard, and withdraw the proper
payment from the till ! Somewhat more sedate was the
estimable and still flourishing Family Herald, whose pro-
prietor, William Stevens, laid down a code of rules for his
writers, strictly enforced. One was that no child should be
bom out of wedlock in its pages, and the approach of even a
legitimate addition to the family had to be hinted at in a set
phrase of scrupulous delicacy. The Family Herald began
those delightfully confidential and sympathetic Answers to
Correspondents on which a hundred papers thrive to-day ;
while the leading articles of its long-time editor, Hain Friswell,
were models of gentle philosophy.

To counteract such " pernicious literature " — I am still
quoting my Dean — worthy people started The Leisure Hour
and Good Words. I seek them now in vain in my Press
Directory. And what has become of The Argosy, without
which no middle-class home was happy, following with a
passionate eagerness the adventures of one Johnny Ludlow,
a kind of Victorian Cayley Drummle, invented by the editress,
Mrs Henry Wood. Miss Braddon had her rival publication,
Belgravia, gone, as Temple Bar is, and The Gentleman^ s Maga-
zine, and London Society — whose last editor, James Hogg, was
the dearest old man that ever added an apology to the three
half-crowns with which he paid for a set of verses. A few
years ago there was a regular debacle in magazines of this type
— Household Words, Home Chimes, Once a Week, among them.

274

MEDITATIONS AMONG THE TOMBS

But the mortality in comic papers is awful. I have
spoken of Fun. A natural sequence to the establishment of
Punch was the arrival of Judy, in whose pages that curious
person, " Ally Sloper," first appeared. In time he had his
own organ, Ally Sloper^ s Half Holiday ; and Judy languished
for lack of him. Some time since I saw a speculative account
as to the origin of Sloper. This I believe to be the true
one : Charles H. Ross edited Judy. Marie Duval drew for it.
Ernest Warren, who died ere the fulfilment of his great
promise as a dramatist, wrote for it. The staff was one of
those affectionate fraternities that the old editors seemed
better able to manage than the new. Warren, intimately
known as Uncle Inkpen, had been badly scarred by illness in
Jamaica, and Marie Duval loved to draw strange pictures of
him. That was the suggestion of Sloper, which W. G. Baxter,
a clever artist from Manchester, developed into the long-
familiar monster. Sloper became an obsession of Baxter,
and ruined his career, as Manchester men who remember his
fine earlier Dickens studies agree. Funny Folks was for
years a good property, but is no more. Moonshine might
surely have lived on John Proctor's cartoons, but it flickered
out. Ariel served, at any rate, to establish Zangruell as a
humorist. And Pick-Me-TJp exploited some of the best
work of Phil May and Dudley Hardy. But the avowedly
comic paper seems to begin and end in Punch. I suppose I
have forgotten a score. But I remember a cold-blooded
effort at a comic monthly — ^H. J. Byron's short-lived Mirth.

Society papers without number have vainly sought, during
my time, to emulate the success of Truth and The World —
of the old World. There have been, in something like that
order, Vanity Fair, The Whitehall Review, Pan (edited by the

275

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

versatile Alfred Thompson and enclosing a novel by Sala),
an earlier Sketch, edited by Reginald Shirley Brooks,
Orange Blossoms, with which Phil Robinson was sure he
could make a fortune by specialising on society weddings,
The Court and Society Review, The St Stephen's Review,
which was at one time of immense assistance to the
Conservative party, with impudent adaptations of Hogarth's
cartoons, Society, which missed a fortune by juggling its
price between a penny and sixpence. The Bat, The Hawk,
The Period, The Planet and so on. Two costly attempts
were made to compete with the then unassailable Graphic
and Illustrated London News, with The Pictorial World and
Black and White.

But the more tremendous tragedies are those of the daily
press, which may be taken to include Sunday papers. It is
an open secret that The Evening News, one of the most
prosperous newspapers of to-day, ate up capital to be
reckoned in hundreds of thousands ere the Harmsworths
bought it for a song, and emerged from snippety to serious
journalism. The true story of that deal, engineered by an
ambitious Birmingham reporter who became a millionaire,
Kennedy Jones, will never be written, but it was /destined to
revolutionise the English Press — almost, English society.

It is an odd thing that Newnes, whose romantic success
with Tit-Bits and The Strand Magazine staked the course for
the Harmsworths, never got a firm grip of daily journalism —
his Courier and also his Million stand for two of the historic
defeats of a really great general in journalism. Nor did
Pearson, who followed boldly in the track of the Newnes
and Harms worth weekly and monthly periodicals, succeed
remarkably in daily and evening journalism. Stead's
descent on Fleet Street with The Daily Paper proved

276 V

MEDITATIONS AMONG THE TOMBS

again, in a few hours, the limitations of his extraordinary
personality.

For years the halfpenny paper really appealing to the
popular imagination was The Echo, started by the publishing
firm of Cassell, soon tired of a strange and potentially ruinous
business. They sold it to Baron Grant, the company pro-
moter who swept Leicester Square and garnished it with
Shakespeare and geraniums. He made fortunes and lost
fortunes ; and, in his troubled old age, found a curious
pleasure in collecting prospectuses, as some men of less
genius collect postage stamps. That weird creature, Pass-
more Edwards, must eventually have made millions out of
The Echo, a vast proportion of which he dissipated in philan-
thropy— for choice public libraries and missionary " settle-
ments " during his lifetime. The economies of The Echo
office were sordid and disheartening. But Edwards had
the genius of journalism — compression, conciseness, variety
and a touch of culture were the characteristics of The Echo.
Its eccentric proprietor was a (theoretical) teetotaller, a
non-smoker, a food reformer, a dress reformer, what not.
He would hand an applicant for work pen and paper and try
his quality then and there. He quaintly called this " cheese
tasting." He sold a share in The Echo to a group of million-
aires for nearly a hundred thousand pounds, repurchased it,
and sold it again. Without him, the paper languished and
died. Its recent resuscitation and death after a few issues
was a grim joke.

One of Edwards's other newspaper properties made for the
haven of amalgamation — The Weekly Times cmdEcho, with its
strange hotch-potch of high morality, wholemeal bread and
horrid Answers to Correspondents on medical cases. Its

277

FIFTY YEARS OF A LONDONER'S LIFE

distinction in its last days was that it still retained as its
dramatic critic Isaac Seaman, the doyen of the craft, whose
pride is in journalism, and who is kept virile at eighty by the
joyousness of his disposition and the fervour of his friend-
ships.

England, as the title of a Tory Democratic weekly, was
an inspiration of Ashmead Bartlett. But its life and death
may be epitomised in an incident. Lord Salisbury delivered
a speech of importance at Sheffield, to which the local
Telegraph gave many columns, recording in three words the
fact that " Mr Ashmead Bartlett also spoke." England gave
the Prime Minister a few lines, and proceeded to a verbatim
report of its well-meaning but curiously egotistical editor.
It was when the Conservative Party, eager to capture
the Sunday leisure of Demos, turned in impatience from
Ashmead Bartlett and England to The People that the
latter flourished ; and the former made for the graveyard
which suggested the heading of this chapter. My personal
bereavement was greatest when The Sun, thanks to a
mismanaged action for libel, passed from the control
of my many years' brilliant chieftain. Two more recent
enterprises merely concern me to bring one's memories of
journalistic vicissitude up to date, The Tribune and The
Evening Times,

278

APPENDIX

Alhambra Chronology

Opened as the Panopticon, l6th March 1854.

Opened as the Alhambra by E. T. Smith, 7th February 1858.

Howe's and Cushing's American Circus Season (continued by

Wallett), 1858-1859.
Opened as a music hall by E. T. Smith, 13th December I860.
William Wilde's tenancy, 1861-1864

Leotard's first appearance in England, Whit Monday, 26th May 186l.
Franconi's circus season continued by Loisset, 1863-1864.
Reopened, after rebuilding, by Frederick Strange, 26th December

1864.
Floated as a Limited Liability Company by Frederick Strange,

November 1865.
Dancing licence refused, 13th October 1870.
Opened as a theatre, 25th April 1871.
Le Roi Carotte, 3rd June 1872.
Black Crook, 2Srd December 1872.
La Belle Helene, l6th August 1873.
Don Juan (extravaganza by H. J. Byron), 22nd December 1873;

therewith, the ballet. Flick and Flock.
La Jolie Parfumeuse, i8th May 1874.
The Demons Bride, 7th September 1874.
Whittingion, 26th December 1874.
Chilperic, 10th May 1875.
Cupid in Arcadia, 26th June 1875.
The Flower Queen, 8th November 1 875.
Spectresheim, 14th August 1875.
Lord Bateman, 24th December 1875.
Le Voyage dans la Lune, 15th April 1876.
Don Quixote, 25th September 1876.
Die Fledermaus, 18th December 1876.

279

APPENDIX

The Fairies' Home, Christmas, 1876.

Yolandcy 18th August 1877.

King Indigo, 24th September 1877.

Orphee aux Enfers, 30th April 1877.

La Fille de Madame Angot, 12th November 1877.

Wildjire, 26th December 1877.

The Grand Duchess, 8th April 1878.

The Golden Wreath, 20th May 1 878.

Fatinitza, 20th June 1878.

Genevieve de Brabant, l6th September 1878.

La Perichole, 9th November 1878.

La Poule aux (Eufs d'Or, 23rd December 1878.

Venise, 5th May 1879-

The Princess of Trebizonde, 2nd August 1 879*

La Petite Mademoiselle, 6th October 1879.

Carmen, 20th October 1879-

Rothomago, 22nd December 1879.

La Fille du Tambour Major, 19th April 1880.

Mejistofele IL, 20th December 1880.

Hawaya, 27th December 1880.

Jeanne, Jeannette, Jeanneton, 28th March 1881.

The Bronze Horse, 4th July 1881.

Babil and Bijou, 8th April 1882.

The Black Crook, 3rd December 1881.

The Merry War, l6th October 1882.

Destroyed by fire, 7th December 1882.

The Golden Ring (reopening), 3rd December 1883.

The Beggar Student, 12th April 1884.

Reopened as a music hall, 18th October 1884.

The Swans, 31st November 1884.

Melusine, 22nd December 1884

Nina, 5th October 1885.

Le Bivouac, 21st December 1885.

Cupid, 24th May 1886.

Dresdina, 15th November 1886.

The Seasons, 20th December 1886.

Nadia, l6th May 1887.

280

APPENDIX

Algeria, llth July 1887.
Enchantment, 24th December 1887.
Antiope, 4th June 1888.
Ideala, 3rd September 1888.
Irene, 19th December 1888.
Army and Navy, 1st April 1889.
Astrea, 8th July 1889-
Asmodeus, 23rd December 1889.
Salandra, 23rd June 1 890.
The Sleeping Beauty^ 1 5th December 1 890.
Orietta, 15th June 1891.
Temptation, 21st December 1891.
On the Ice, 22nd February 1892.
Don Juan, 13th June 1892.
Up the River, 19th September 1892.
Aladdin, 19th December 1892.
Chicago, 27th March 1893.
Fidelia, 19th June 1893.
Don Quixote, llth December 1893.
The Revolt of the Daughters, 30th March 1894.
Sita, 25th June 1 894.
Ali Baba, 29th October 1894.
Titania, 30th July 1 895.
Lochinvar, 7th October 1895.
Bluebeard, l6th December 1895.
Donnybrook, 4th June 1896.
Rip van Winkle, 29th July 1 896.
Tzigane, 15th December 1896.
Victoria and Merry England, 25th May 1897.
Beauty and the Beast, 4th January 1 898.
Jack Ashore, 8th August 1898.
The Red Shoes, 30th January 1899.
A Day Off, 24th April 1899.
Napoli, 2 1 St August 1 899.
Soldiers of the Queen, 1 1 th December 1 899.
The Handy Man, 24th September I90O.
The Gay City, 19th December 1900.

281

APPENDIX

Inspiration f 8th June IpOl.

Gretna Green, 10th October 1901.

Santa Claus, 25th December 1901.

In Japan, 21st April 1902.

Britannia s Realm, l6th January 1902.

The Devils Forge, 12th January 1903.

Carmen, 7th May 1903.

All the Year Round, 21st January 1904.

Entente Cordiale, 29th August 1904.

My Lady Nicotine, 27th March 1905.

Parisiana, 11th December 1905.

L' Amour, 11th June 1906.

The Queen of Spades, 25th February 1907.

Les Cloches de Comeville, 7th October 1 907.

Cupid Wins, 27th January 1908.

The Two Flags, 25th May 1908.

Paquita, 12th October 1908.

On the Square, 22nd February 1908.

Psyche, 5th April 1909.

On the Heath, 20th September 1909.

Femina, 30th May I91O.

The Dance Dream, 29th May I9II.

1830, 19th October 191I.

Carmen, 24th January 1912.

Empire Chronology

Opened as a theatre with a revival of Chilperic, 17th April 1884.
Season of Gaiety burlesque, 1884.
Polly revived ; with the ballet Coppelia.
Pocahontas, 26th December 1884 (with the ballet Giselle).
The Lady of the Locket, 11th March 1885.
Billee Taylor, revived, 21st December 1885.
Hurley Burley (military pantomime), 21st December 1885.
Round the World, 3rd March 1886.
The Palace of Pearl, 12th June 1886.

282

APPENDIX

A Maiden Wife, 24th August 1886.

Opened as a music hall, 22nd December 1887. Ballets : The Sports
of England, Dilara.

Rose d' Amour (ballet), 19th May 1888.

Diana (ballet), 31st October 1888.

Robert Macaire, 24th December 1888.

The Bal Masque {" A Duel in the Snow "), 28th January 1889.

Cleopatra (ballet), 20th May 1889.

The Paris Exhibition (ballet), 30th September 1889-

The Dream of Wealth (ballet), 23rd December 1889.

Cecile (ballet), 20th May 1890.

Dolli/ (ballet), 22nd December 1890.

Orfeo (ballet), 25th May 1891.

By the Sea (ballet), 31st August 1891.

Nisita (ballet), 22nd December 1891.

Versailles (ballet), 30th May 1892.

Round the Town (ballet), 26th September 1892.

Katrina (ballet), 20th February 1893.

The Girl I Left Behind Me (ballet), 27th September 1893.

Living pictures first shown, 5th February 1 894.

British Pluck Tableau, 23rd April 1894.

La Frolique (ballet), 21st May 1894.

On Brighton Pier (ballet), 8 th October 1894.

Closed, as a protest against the County Council restrictions, Satur-
day, 27th October, to Friday, 2nd November, 1894, inclusive.

Faust (ballet), 6th May 1895.

La Danse (ballet), 25th January 1896.

Lumiere's cinematograph introduced, 9th March 1896.

Monte Cristo (ballet), 26th October 1896.

Under One Flag (ballet), 21st June 1897.

The Race, 7th February 1898.

The Press (ballet), 14th February 1898.

Our River (ballet), 22nd September 1898.

Alaska (ballet) 12th October 1898.

Round the Toivn Again (ballet), 8th May 1899.

Ordered to the Front, 21st November 1899.

Seaside (ballet), 10th September 1900.

283

APPEKDIX

Les Papillons (ballet), 18th March 1901.

Old China (ballet), 6th November 1901.

Sousa's band matinees, November to December, 1901.

Our Crown, 28th May 1902.

Gala performance before the Shah of Persia, 19th August 1902.

Milliner Duchess (ballet), 14.th January 1903.

Vineland (ballet), 26th September 1903.

High Jinks (ballet), 19th March 1904.

The Dancing Doll, 3rd January 1905.

Genee commanded to appear before the King and Queen at

Chatsworth, 5th January 1905.
The Bugler, 9th October 1905.
Cinderella, 6th January 1906.
Coppelia, 14th May I906.
Fete Galante, 6th August 1 906.
The Debutante, 15th November 1906.
Sir Roger de Coverley, 7th May 1907.
The Belle of the Ball, 30th September 1907.
Coppelia, revived, 10th June 19O8.
The Dryad, 7th September 19O8.
A Day in Paris, 19th October I9O8.
Robert the Devil, 5th July I909.
Round the World, 9th October 1909.
The same, revived as East and West, 21st March 19IO.
The Dancing Master, 25th July 19 10.
The Faun, 3rd October 191O.
Ship Ahoy, 15th November 19IO.
Sylvia, 18th May 191I.
New York, 10th October 19II.
The Water Nymph, 2nd April 1912.
First Love, 24th September 1912.
The Reaper s Dream, 11th February 1913.
Titania, 4th October 1913.
The Dancing Master, 23rd October 1914.
Europe, 7th September 1914.

284

INDEX

Accidents to acrobats, 14, 85
Acrobats, nationality of, 210
A ct on the Square. See Comic Songs
Actor managers : influence on the

stage, 217
Adam, the brothers, 43
Adam Street, 42
Adams, Annie, 96, 212
Adams, Sam, 123
Adaptation, methods of, 69
Addison, Carlotta, 260
Adelaide, Queen, 236
Adelphi, the, 43
Adelphi Theatre, the, 172, 223, 239,

259
Mneas, 241
Africaine, L', 240
After Dark, 79
After the Opera is Over. See Comic

Songs
Agents, music hall, 48, 142, 143, 144,

145, 146
Ailesbury, Lord, 151
Aladdin (Alhambra ballet), 107
Alaska (Empire ballet), 107
Albery, James, 13, 172, 200
Albion Tavern, the, 12, 13
Alcazar, the (tiieatre), 87
Alessio, 235

Alexander, Sir George, 171, 209
Alexandra, Queen, 88, 135
Algeria (Alhambra ballet), 107
Alhambra, the, 45, 83, 87, 89, 90,

104, 105, 106, 107, 127, 135, 136,

165, 187, 198, 202, 209, 211, 238,

242, 267
Alhambra canteen, the, 86
AliBaha (Alhambra ballet), 107
Alias, Charles, 182, 221, 222, 223
All the Year Round (Alhambra

ballet), 107
Allan, Maud, no, in, 112, 167
Ally Sloper, 275
Alsatian Club, the, 126
Amberley, Viscount, 18

American biograph, the, 166, 267

American visitors to London, 113

Amina, 235

L' Amour (Alhambra ballet), 107

Anderson, James, 74

Anderson, Mary, 115

Animatograph, the, 267

Anne of Cleves, 43

Annette (Mrs Kendal as, in The

Stranger), 10
Annie and Sophia, 156
Anson, G. W., 172
Antiope (Alhambra ballet), 107
Apollo Theatre, the, 246
Aquarium, the Royal (Westminster) .

See Westminster Aquarium
Aquarium Theatre, the, 52, 77
Archer, William, 27, 29, 117
Arena, the, 33
Argosy, The, 274
Ariel, 275

Argyll Rooms, the, 123, 124
Army and Navy (Alhambra ballet),

107
Arnold, Sir Edwin, 178, 179
Arnott (the Lyceum property

master), 226, 227
Arrah ! No Brogue ! 241
Arrah na Pogue, 79
'Arry. See Comic Songs
Artist's Model, An, 204
Artists' Ball, the, 6
Arundel Club, the, 25
As I vos a-valkin'. See Comic

Songs
As You Like It, 21
Ascent of Mont Blanc (Albert

Smith's), 154
Ash Wednesday, 109
Ashton, George, 138
Ask a Policeman . See Comic Songs
Asmodeus (Alhambra ballet), 107
Astley's Amphitheatre, 75-76, 241,

243
Astley, Hugh, 42
Astley, Philip, 68, 80
Astley, Sir John, 42

285

INDEX

Astrea (Alhambra ballet), 107

Athenaum, The, 30

Auber, 86, 104

Avenue Theatre, 222

Ayrton, Mr, 147

Azael (Alhambra ballet), 104

Bab Ballads, i, 3

Bdbil and Bijou, 106, 199, 223

Back Kitchen, the, 44

Bacon, Francis, i

Bacon's Mount, i

Bal Masque (Empire ballet), 107

Ballantyne, Sergeant, 127

Ballets and ballet dancers, 104

Bancrofts, the, 82, 168, 236, 238,
240, 244, 245

Baradas, 9

Barker, Granville, 50

Barnard's Inn, 4

Barnards, the, 231

Bamum, P. T., 187

Bamum and Bailey, 78

Barrasford, Thomas, 159, 225, 226

Barrett, Wilson, 9, 27, 28, 80

Barrie, J. M., 15, 16, 17, 19, 20, 21,
62

Barrington, Rutland, 254

Barry, Helen, 29, 172, 199

Barry, Jeanne du, 222

Barry, Shi el, 221

Bartholomew Fair, 33, 185, 272

Bartlett, Ashmead, 26, 278

Basket of Flowers, The, 272

Basoche, La, 162

Bass, Sir William, 184

Bat, The, 204, 276

Bateman, Colonel, 116, 239

Bateman, Isabel, 116

Bateman, Mrs, 74

Baum, John, 14

Baxter, Miss M., 229

Baxter, W. G., 275

Bears, the Royal, 136

Beating of My Own Heart, The, 1 1

Beaufort, the Duke of, 151

Beauty and the Beast (Alhambra
ballet), 107

Beck, Martin, 54

Beck, Anthony de (Bishop of Dur-
ham), 43

Backet, 94

Becket, St Thomas a, 185

Beckett, Arthur a, 183

Becky Sharp, 200

Bedford, Paul, 74

Beefsteak Club, the, 154

Beere, Mrs, 183

Beere, Mrs Bernard, 89, 169

Beggar Student, The, 106

Beggar's Opera, The, 202

Belgravia, 274

Bell Inn, the, 4

Bell, Rose, 87, 106

Belle of the Ball (Empire ballet), 107

Belle of New York, The, 117

Belle Helene, La, 105

Bellew, the Rev. J. C. M., 247

Bells, The, 150

Bells, The (Alhambra ballet), 106

Bell wood, Bessie, 55, 67, 212

Belphegor, 10, 239

Bendigo, 19

Benicia Boy, the, 75

Bernard, Charles, 120, 164, 211

Bernard and Vestris's Minstrels, 136,

164
Bernhardt, Sarah, 29, 162, 209
Best Man, The, 31
Bianchi's Waxworks, 229
Biene, August Van, 203
Bignell, R., 123
Bill, Buffalo, 136
Bill of the Play, 250
Billington, Adelaide, 239
Bilton, Belle (Lady Clancarty), 61
Bilton, the Sisters, 61
Binstead, Arthur, 251
Birmingham, the music hall in, 159
Birmingham Musical Festival, 263
Birmingham Theatre Royal, 235
Bivouac, The (Alhambra ballet), 106
Black, William, 2, 272
Black and White, 276
Black Crook, The, 105
Black Dance, the, 14
Black-Ey'd Susan, 38, 81
Black Horse, the, 41
Blanchard, E. L., 25, 236
Bleak House, 77
Bleeding Vic, the. See the Victoria

Theatre
Blondin, 36, 85, 86, 187, 210, 211
Blondin, the female, 14
Blondin, Le Petit, 212
Bluebeard (Alhambra ballet), 107
Blythe, Carlton, 151
Boar and Castle, the, 36
Bohee Brothers, the, 125

286

INDEX

Bohn's Library, 272

Boleno, Harry, 259

Booth, Edward, 116

Booth, General, 76, 185

Bo-Peep, 163

Bordoni, 107

Borthwick, Sir Algernon, 168

Borulaski, Count, 257

Bo stock's Menagerie, 258

Botting, Robert, 52

Bottle. The. 8

Boucicault, Dion, 75, 79, 223, 242

Bourchier, A., 176, 209

Bow Bells. 20, 273

Boy's Best Friend, A. See Comic

Songs
Boy I Love, The. See Comic Songs
Boys of England. The. 273
Boyne, Leonard, 11
Brabantio, 9

Braddon, Miss M. E., 26, 241, 274
Bradshaw, John, 68
Branscombe, Maude, 194
Breitmann Ballads, the, 3
Brickwell, H. T., 220
Bridge, Sir John, 190
Brierley, Bob, 236
Britannia Festival, the, 64
Britannia's Realm (Alhambra

ballet), 107
Britannia Saloon, the, 65
Britannia Theatre, the, 63, 64, 65
Brodribb (Henry Irving), 200
Broken Melody, The, 203
Bronze Horse, The, 106
Brook, The, 141

Brookfield, Charles, 154, 166, 255
Brooks, Reginald Shirley, 251, 276
Brother Sam, 241
Brough, Fanny, 220
Brough, Lionel, 222
Brougham, the Sisters, 60, 211
Brown. Mrs. 3
Brutus. 80

Buchanan, Robert, 174, 176
Buckstone, J. B., 119, 128, 129, 237
Buffalo Bill, 136

Bugle Call, The (Empire ballet), 107
Bull by the Horns. The. 248
Bunn, Alfred, 207
Bunthorne, 147

i!urdett Coutts, the Baroness, 26
Burgess, Fred, 120
Burlesque, beginnings of, 81
Burnand, F. C, 3, 10, 149, 240
Butt, Alfred, no, 165, 167

By the Sea (Empire ballet), 107
BjTon, H. J., 3, 67, 82, 105, 175,

206, 234, 236, 237, 238, 240, 243,

244, 248
Byron, Lord, 242

Cabinet Minister. The,
Cafe Royal, the, 88
Cafe Vaudeville, the, 60
Caleb Plummer, 260
Calvert, Charles, 248
Cambridge, the Duke of, 177
Cambridge Music Hall, the, 100
Cameron, Violet, 60
Campbell, Herbert, 103
Camptown Races. See Comic Songs
Cancan, the, 105, 222
Canterbury, the, 32, 33, 35, 36, 37,

42, 43, 57, 60, 62, 78, 83, 91, 104,

164, 185,210,211
Canton, 220
Captain Crossiree is my Name. See

Comic Songs
Captain Cuff. See Comic Songs
Captain Hawksley, 236
Captain Jinks. See Comic Songs
Cardiff Empire, 231
Carlisle House, 122
Carlisle Theatre, 164
Carlyle, Thomas, 224
Carmagnole, the, 222
Carmen, 163

Carmen (Alhambra ballet), 106, 107
Carnival of Venice (Alhambra ballet) ,

106
Carols of Cockaigne, 3
Carpet Bag. Mr Woodin's, 81, 154
Carrington, the Earl of, 136
Carte, D'Oyly, 71, 162, 202, 250
Casanova, 122
Cassells, 227
Caste, 236, 243
Caulfield, Mrs, 35
Caunton, 17
Cavalazzi, Malvina, 109
Cave, J. A., 52, 68, 74, 91
Cave of Harmony, 44
Cay ley Drummle, 274
Cecil, Arthur, 138
Cecile (Empire ballet), 107
" Celebrities at Home," 175
Celeste, 74
Central Criminal Court, 249

287

INDEX

Cerulea was Beautiful. See Comic

Songs
Chairman, the music hall, 47
Chamberlain, the Rt. Hon. Joseph,

26
Chamberlain, the Lord, 50, 105, 147,

149
Champagne Charley. See Comic

Songs
Chant, Mrs Ormiston, 89
Chaplin, Charlie, 270
Chaplin, the Rt. Hon. Henry, 17
Chapman, the Rev. Hugh B., 190
Charing Cross Hospital, 71, 141
Charing Cross Theatre, 71, 81
Charity, 239
Charlatan, The, 148
Charles I., 262
Charles II., 46
Charley's Aunt, 81, 131,219
Charrington, Frederick, 66
Charterhouse, the, 52
Chatham Music Hall, the, 231
Chatterton, F. B., 242
Chevalier, Albert, 118, 213
Chicago (Alhambra ballet), 107
Chickaleary Bloke, The. See Comic

Songs)
" Chicken and champagne," 5
Child of the Sun, A , 241
Chilperic, 88, 198

Chinese Honeymoon, A , 82, 206, 228
Chirgwin, George, 118, 209
Chorus girls, 193 ; American, 117
Chorus Lady, The, 116
Christabelle, 150

Christy Minstrels, 119, 120, 121, 243
Church and stage, 185
Churchill, Lord Randolph, 150
Churchill, Mr Winston, 87, 114, 187
Cider Cellars, the, 33, 44
Cigale, La, 163
Cinderella, 163, 206, 223
Cinderella (Empire ballet), 107
Cinema, romance of the, 265
Circus, the, 161
Circus, Henglers', 136
Circus, Sanger's, 136
City of London Theatre, 74
City Road, 65, 69
Clancarty, the Earl of, 61
Claque, the, 133, 134
Claretie, Jules, 23
Clark, J., 235, 238
Clark, John Sleeper, 82, 116
Clarke, Sir Edward, 26

Clayton, John, 262

Cleft Stick, A, 241

Cleopatra (Empire ballet), 107

Cleves, Anne of, 43

Clicquot. See Comic Songs

Clifton, Harry, 103, 156

Clinton, Lord Arthur Pelham, 10

Cloches de Corneville, Les, 81, 220,
221

Cloches de Corneville (Alhambra
ballet), 107

Clodoche, 222

Clowns, famous, 259

Coach and Horses, the, 36

Coal Black Rose, The. See Comic
Songs

Coal Hole, the, 33, 44

Cobbett, William, 19, 263

Coborn, Charles, 41, 123, 124

Coburg Theatre, the, 68

Coddington, Captain, 203

Coffee Shop Gal, The. See Comic
Songs

Coffin, Hayden, 88

Cohen, Arthur, 251, 255

Colas, Stella, 79

Cole, Lieut., the ventriloquist, 58

Coleridge, Justice, 135

Coliseum, the. See the London
Coliseum

Collette, Charles, 181

Collier, Constance, 200

Collins, Arthur, 249

Collins, Lottie, 43

Collins, Mortimer, 18

Collins, Sam, 96

Collins, Wilkie, 172

Colonel, The, 71

Colonna, 105

Come where the Booze is cheaper.
See Comic Songs

Comedie Fran9aise, 23

Comedy Opera Company, 202

Comic Songs —

Act on the Sqiiare, 93 ; After the
Opera is Over, 37; As I vos a-
valkin', ^5; 'Arry,54; Boy's Best
Friend, A, 125 ; Boy I Love, The,
49; Camptown Races, 119; Captain
Cuff, 37, 10 1 ; Captain Jinks, 102 ;
Cerulea was Beautiful, 10 1 ;
Champagne Charley, 36, 53, 66, 93;
Chickaleary Bloke, 93, 98 ; Clic-
quot, 93 ; Coal Black Rose; The,
119; Coffee Shop Gal, The, 54;
Come where the Booze is cheaper,

288

INDEX

Comic Songs — continued

8 ; Cool Burgundy Ben, 93 ;
Damned Scamp, {f ever there
was a, 94 ; Don't you hear dem
Bells, 120 ; Faust, 34 ; Flying
Trapeze, The, 10 1 ; Fresh, fresh,
61 ; German Band, The, 98 ;
Get your Hair cut, 98; Hamlet,
Prince of Denmark , 34 ; Hi-tiddly-
hi-ti-ti, 10 1 ; His Lordship
winked at the Counsel, 8 ; Hit
him on the Boko, 37 ; If you want
to know the Time, ask a Pleeceman,
68 ; / wish I was with Nancy, 92 ;
Jim Crow, 119 ; Kemo Kimo, 36 ;
La-di-da, 96 ; Let 'Em All Come,
98 ; • Milk for the Twins, 48 ;
Mind you inform your Father, 60 ;
Moet and Chandon, 93 ; Mouse
Traps, 37 ; Not for Joe, 97, 98 ;
Oh ! Jeremiah ! Jeremiah ! 49 ;
Oliver Twist, 34 ; Paddle your
Own Canoe, 103 ; Perfect Cure,
The, 38 ; Polly wollyamo, 98 ;
Pulling hard against the Stream,
103 ; Racketty Jack, 137 ; Rat-
catcher's Daughter, 35 ; Riding on
a Donkey, 37, loi ; Rocky Road to
Dublin, 96; Rollicking Rams, 37;
Romano's, 60 ; Slap Bang, here
we are again, 44, 98 ; Sparkling
Moselle, 93 ; Sweet Nellie's Blue
Eyes, 124 ; Sweet Violets, 54 ; Ta-
ra-ra-boom-de-ay , 43 ; The Whole
Hog or None, 92 ; There 's 'A ir, 98 ;
They're all very fine and large, loi ;
Tooral-laddy, 58 ; Two Girls of
Good Society, 60 ; Two Lovely
Black Eyes, 123 ; Up and down
the City Road, 68 ; Up in a
Balloon, 37, 10 1 ; Villikins and
his Dinah, 35 ; Walking in the
Zoo, 10 1 ; Wait till the Turn of
the Tide, 10 1 ; Wanted a Governess,
155 ; We Don't Want to Fight, 94,
95, 100 ; Wot Cheer, Ria ? 55 ;
Zazel ! Zazel! 10 1

Command performance, the, 140

Compton, Henry, 93 \

Comus, the masque of, 44

Conquest, George, 69

Conquest, Madame, 69

Conrad and Lisette, 202

Consuelo, Agnes, 88

Consul, 209

Contes Marines, Les, 173

Cool Burgundy Ben. See Comic

Songs
Cooper, Margaret, 167, 213
Coote, Charles, 103
Coppelia (Empire ballet), 107
Coppi, M,, 107
Coquette, The, 173
Corinthian Club, the, 86, 124, 125,

127
Corlett, John, 251
Cornelys, Madam, 122
Corri, Henry, 149
Corri, Montague, 96
Corsair, Le, 104
Corsican Brothers, The, 239
Cosham, Handel, 18
Cosmotheca Music Hall, 48
Cost of theatrical productions, 215
Coster song, the first, 93
Cotieres, 9

Cottage Library, the, 272
Country Girl, The, 109
Court and Society Review, The, 276
Court fools, 258

Court Theatre, the, 80, 147, 150, 172
Courtneidge, Robert, 36, 199
Covent Garden, 257
Cowell, Sam, 34, 35, 43, 155, 210
Cox, Harry, 235
Coyne, Fred, 211
Craven House, 80
Cremorne, 7, 11, 12, 13, 14
Creswick, William, 73, 109
Criterion comedy, 113
Criterion Theatre, 123, 148, 172
Cross, Mr, Home Secretary, 187
Cruikshank, George, 8, 123
Cruikshank, Robert, 123
Crutch and Toothpick, 262
Crystal Palace, 85, 86, 186
Cuckoo, The, 179
Cupid in Arcadia, 106
Cupid, Mrs Kendal as, 10
Cushman, Charlotte, 115
Cyprians' Ball, the, 123

Dacre, Arthur, 89

Daily Courier, 276

Daily Graphic, 30

Daily Mail. 5

Daily News, 30

Daily Paper, The, 276

Daly, Augustin, 72, 113, 114

Daly's Theatre, 71, 92, 113

289

INDEX

Dame aux Camilias, 29, 172
Damned Scamp. See Comic Songs
Dance Dream, The (Alhambra ballet),

107
Dance, George, 8, 206
Dancers, English, 197, 198
Dancing Doll, The (Empire ballet),

107
D'Anka, Corneille, 106
Danse, La (Empire ballet), 107
Dark Arches, the, 43
Darned mounseer, the, 148
Darrell, Maude, no, 145
D'Arville, Camille, 88
Daughter of Heth, A, 27S
Davenport Brothers, the, 157
David Elginbrod, 21
David Garrick, 237
Davis, James, 204, 251
Day Off (Alhambra ballet), 107
Dead-heads, 128
Dearer than Life, 262
Death on the stage, 93
Debutante, The (Empire ballet), 107
De Freece, 159
Delicate Ground, 10
Denville, Clara, 9, 10
De Pinna, 188

Desdemona, Mrs Kendal as, 10
Despatch, The, 5
Devil's Forge, The (Alhambra ballet),

107
Dewar, Mr, 235
Diana (Empire ballet), 107
Diary of an Actress, The, 11
Diary of a London Playgoer, 244
Dick Sheridan, 174
Dickens, Charles, 2, 3, 28, 38, 62,

75. 77' 155. 179. 239
Didcott, Hugh Jay, 93, 142, 143,

144, 145, 146, 122
Dido, 240, 241
Dilara (Empire ballet), 107
Disraeli, 96, 248
Dixey, Henry E. (Adonis), 116
Dr Johnson, the, 44, 81
Dolaro, Selina, 73, 106
Dolly (Empire ballet), 107
Don, Sir William and Lady, 11
Don Juan, 105, 109
Don Juan (Alhambra ballet), 17
Don Juan (Gaiety burlesque), 149,

150

Don Quixote (Alhambra ballet), 107
Donald, John, 137
Donna, Anna, 238

Donnyhrook (Alhambra ballet), 107
Don't you hear dem Bells ? See

Comic Songs
Doran, Dr, 258
Dorothy, 71, 200, 228
Dot, 260

Douglass, John, 67, 182
Dowty, A. A. (O. P. Q. Philander

Smifif), 29
Dream of Wealth, A (Empire ballet),

107
Dresdina (Alhambra ballet), 106
Drew, John, 113
Drink, 79
Drury Lane, 46
Drury Lane of the East, 63
Drury Lane Theatre, 12, 13, 67, 73,

144, 163, 172, 174, 182, 218, 223,

240, 241, 242, 249, 260
Dubosc, 227
Duke's Motto, The, 239
Duke's Theatre, 82, 224
Dumas, Alexandre, 29
Dunning, Alice, 91
Dupe, Jemmy, 19
Durand, 252
Durham House, 43
Duval, Marie, 275
Dyas, Ada, 262

Eagle Tavern, the, 69, 76

Earl's Court,

East End amusements, 63

East London Theatre, 65, 66

East Lynne, 8

Echo, The, 277

Edmund, 9

Educated Seals, 188

Edward L, 43

Edward VII., 29, 52, 73, 87, 88, 136,

137. 138, 139, 165, 175, 259
Edwardes, George, 38, 89, 114, 117,

150. 195, 197, 203, 205, 228, 246,

247, 249, 250, 251, 253, 254, 255,

256
Edwards, Passmore, 277
Edwards and Roberts, 41
Effingham Saloon, 65
Egerton Bompas, 151
Eglinton Tournament, 14
Eighteen-thirty (Alhambra ballet),

107
Eldorado Music Hall, 87

290

INDEX

El Dorado (Paris), 220

Eldred, Joseph, 246, 247

Eleanor's Victory, 241

Elginhrod, David, 21

Elizabeth of Bohemia, 80

Elvino, 235, 238

Ely Place. 4

Empire Theatre. 83. 86, 87, 88, 89,

90, 107. 108, 109, 135, 148, 161,

163, 198, 208, 214, 225, 226, 266
Empire Theatre, Edinburgh, 139
Enchanted Forest, The, 106
Enchantment (Alhambra ballet), 107
Enfant Prodigue, V (Auber's), 86,

104
England, I'j^
Englebach, 206
Entente Cordiale (Alhambra ballet),

107
Era, The, 31, 58, 60, 67, 184, 251
Era Almanack, The, 12
Etheldreda, St.. 4
Etherington, Marie, 19, 200
Eugenie, the Empress, 29
Evans's, 35, 124
Evening News, 276
Evening Times, 278
Everi'ngton, Mary, 11
Everyman Library, 272
Examiner, The, 244
Excelsior fballet), 109

Fair Rosamund, 94

Fairies' Home, The, 106

Fall, Leo, 228

FalstafE Club, 124

Family Herald, 274

Far From the Madding Crowd, 244

Farini, G. A., 187, 221

Farmer, Henry, 258

Farmer, John, 258

Farnie, H. B., 173, 221

Farrell. See Macdermott

Farrell, Nellie, 58

Farren, Nellie, 68, 242, 247, 248,

250, 253, 254, 260
Farren, Old, 207
Fatal parachute descent, 14 ;

Middlesex, 49
" Father of the Music Hall," 32
Father Prout, 55
Fatinitza, 106
Faucit, Helen, 242

Faust (Empire ballet), 107

Faust (Gounod's), 33

Faust at His Majesty's, 225

Faust, the Lyceum, 225, 227

Faust, 252

Fawn, James, 68

Fechter, 143, 239

Femina (Alhambra ballet), 107

Fernandez, James, 76

Fidelio (Alhambra ballet), 107

Fielding, 174

Figaro, The London, 28

Figaro, The Paris, 148

Fille de Madame Angot, La, 106, 221

Fille du Tambour Major, La, 106

Fire King, the, 14

First Avenue Hotel, the, 82

First Love waltz, the, 259

Fitzgeorges, the, 177

Fitzroy Theatre, 236

Fledermaus , Die, 106

Fleet Prison, 122

Fletcher of Saltoun, 97

Flexmore, 259

Florodora, 204

Flower Queen. The, 106

Flying Scud, The, 82

Flying Trapeze, The. See Comic
Songs

Follow On, 117

Folly Theatre, 71, 81

Foote, Samuel, 147

Forbes, Archibald, 175

Foresters' Music Hall, the, 48

Formosa, 242

Forrest, Edwin, 115

P'orster, John, 24

Forty Thieves, 163, 247

Four Elements, Fete of the, 14

Fox, Harry, 47

Fox, Rose, 109

Franco-German War, 243 ; (Alham-
bra riots), 87, 105

Fregoli, 156

French hospital, the, 141

Fretillon, 106

Friends, by whose Side we were breast'
ing, oh ! 2

Friswell, Hain, 274

Frohman, Charles, 114, 115, 218

Frolique, La (Empire ballet), 107

Fuller, Loie, 109

Fun, 2, 3, 275

Funny Folks, 275

Furnival's Inn, 4

Fushima, Prince, 148

291

INBEX

Gaiety Bar, the, 30
Gaiety choristers, 196
Gaiety, Edinburgh, 160
Gaiety Girl, The, 150, 204
Gaiety Quartette, the, 248
Gaiety Theatre, the, 23, 38, 44, 71,

81, 109, 117, 124, 133, 180, 181,

196, 200, 201, 205, 206, 239, 246-

256
Gamester, The, 9
Gammon, Barclay, 153
Gardenia Club, 125, 126
Garrick Club, 30, 169
Garrick Club, the Junior, 61
Garrick Theatre, 168, 176
Garrick Theatre (Whitechapel), 74 *

Gaspard, 221
Gay, John, 202

Gay City, The (Alhambra ballet), 107
Gay Parisienne, The, 206
Geisha, The, 204
Gem of Comedy, the, 58
Genee, Adelina, 108, 136, 209
Gentleman Joe, 205
Gentleman' s Magazine, The, 274
George Barnwell, 10
George III., 87
George v., 139

German Band, The. See Comic Songs
Get your Hair cut. See Comic Songs
Gilbert, Mrs G. H., 113
Gilbert, W. S., i, 2, 3, 147, 148, 181,

205, 239
Gilbert and Sullivan, 71, 81, 154, 202
Gilchrist, Connie, 109, 135
Giovanelli, 85
Girl I Left Behind Me, The (Empire

ballet), 107
Gladstone, the Rt. Hon. W. E., 27,

119, 147, 166
Glittering Star of Erin, The, 58
Glohe, The, 30
Globe Insurance frauds, 80
Globe Theatre, 71, 72, 81, 105, 131,

169, 219, 220
Glover, J. M., 164
Godfrey. Charles, 62, 102
Godfrey, G. W., 172
Godwin, E. W., 174
Goldberg, Willie, 251
Golden Wreath, The (Alhambra

ballet), 106
Goldsmith, Oliver, 177
Gooch family, the, 80

Good for Nothing, 54

Good Words, 86, 274

Goodall, Bella, 235

Goudie frauds, 44

Goulue, La, 126

Gounod, 33, 263

Grace Darling, 68

Grain, Corney, 153

Grand Theatre, Islington, 73, 74, 224

Grand Duchess, The, 106

Grand Duke, The, 148

Grant, Baron, 277

Graphic, The, 276

Gray, Mabel, 123

Gray, Paul, 3

Gray's Inn, i

Graydon, J. L., 47, 49

Grecian Saloon, 65

Grecian Theatre, 65, 68, 69, 73, 76,

94. 185
Green, Paddy, 35
Green Room Club, 9, 83, 262, 263
Greenwich Fair, 258
Greet, William, 206
Gretchen in Rip, 240
Gretna Green (Alhambra ballet), 107
Greville, Colonel, 123
Grey, Marie de, 2 1
Grey, Sylvia, 109
Griffiths, D. W., 270
Grimaldi, 132
Groof, De, 14
Gros, Henri, 36
Grossmith, George, 154
Grosvenor, the Sisters, 61
Grundy, Sidney, 25
Guide to Paris, The (Alhambra

ballet), 107
Guilbert, Yvette, 141, 148, 214
Guy Domville, 170, 171
Guy Mannering, 11
Gwynne, Nell, 46

H

Hague's Minstrels, Sam, 231
Haidee, Cissy Loftus as, 150
Hales, T. G., 163
Hall, Owen, 150, 204
Hamilton, Kate, 123
Hamilton, Lady, no
Hamlet, 27, 74, 80, 239
Hamlet, Mr, 79

Hamlet, Prince of Denmark^ See
Comic Songs

292

INDEX

Hammerstein, Oscar, 117
Hammerstein's London Opera

House, 72
Handy Man, The (Alhambra ballet),

107
Hanlon, Bob, 84
Happy Land, 147, 199
Hard Times, 62
Hardy, Dudley, 275
Hardy, Thomas, 244
Hare, Sir John, 168, 224, 238
Harmsworths, the, 276
Harp Tavern, 12
Harris, Augustus, 13, 67, 89, 131,

163, 164, 165, 166, 182, 183, 205,

223, 240, 262, 266
Harris, the elder, 238
Harris, Charles, 223
Hart, Emma, no
Harvey, Bonnie Kate, 58
Hastings, Gilbert (Macdermott) , 94
Hathaway, Miss, 11
Hatton, Joseph, 273
Haverley Minstrels, 115
Hawaya (Alhambra ballet), 106
Hawk, The, 174, 175, 204, 276
Hawkesley, Captain, 236
Hawkins, Mr Justice, 204
Hawtrey, Charles, 109, 209
Hajncnarket Theatre, 42, 130, 154,

237, 240, 241, 244
He revelled 'neath the Moon, 13
Health Exhibition, the, 14
Heart of Midlothian, 75
Heartsease, 29, 30, 172
Heenan, John C, 75, 84
Helen, 10

Henderson, Alexander, 221, 237
Hengler's Circus, 136
Henry IV., Part I., 11
Henry V., 163
Henry VIII., 43
Henty, G. A., 273
Herbert, Miss, 241
Herman, Henry, 28
Hermitage, the, Streatham, 54
Herve, 198

Hicks, Seymour, 166, 209, 254
Hicks Theatre, 72
High Jinks (Empire ballet), 108
Highbury Bam, 85
Hildyard, Watty, 259
Hill, Caroline, 82
Hill. Jennie, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 58,

118, 212
Hippodrome, the London, 160

Hippomenes (J. M. Barrie), 19
His Lordship winked at the Counsel.

See Comic Songs
His Majesty's Theatre, 71, 109, 223,

225
Hi-tiddly-hi'ti-ti. See Comic Songs
Hit him on the Boko. See Comic

Songs
Hitchens, H. J., 87
Ho ! The Devil had me once, 19
Hobson, Captain, 188, 189
Hodson, Henrietta, 262
Hogg, James, 274
Holborn, 3

Holborn Amphitheatre, 82
Holborn Casino, 123
Holborn Restaurant, 123
Holborn Viaduct, 6
Hole, Dean, 17, 18
Holland, William, 37, 57, 136
HoUingshead, John, 12, 23, 69, 86,

109, 124, 150, 179, 180, 181, 194,

210, 247, 248, 249, 250, 255
Holt, Clarence, 136, 155
Home Chimes, 62, 274
Honey, George, 74
Honeymoon, The, 10
Honnor, Mrs, 74
Hood, Captain Basil, 205
Hood, Tom, i, 2, 3
Horton, Miss Priscilla, 156
Hotel Libre Exchange, 113
House that John and William Built,

The, 7
Household Words, 179
Hughes, Miss, 238
Hugo, Victor, 224
Hunchback, The, 10
Hunt, G. W,. 100, loi
Hylton, Millie, 38

Ideala (Alhambra ballet), 106

// ever there was a Damned Scamp.

See Comic Songs
// you want to know the Time, ask a

Pleeceman. See Comic Songs
I have a silent Sorrow here, 10
Illustrated London News, The, 276
Imperial Theatre, 52, 76, 77
Innocence waltz, 103
In Town, 202, 203, 253
Iowa Indians, the, 229
/ revelled 'neath the Moon, 13

293

INDEX

Ifena (Alhambra ballet), 107

Iron Chest, The, 227

Irving, Ethel,

Irving, Henry, 21, 26, 77, 94, 115,

116, 130, 132, 150, 157, 171, 200,

224, 225, 226, 227, 238, 239, 246,

248,257, 262
It's Never Too Late to Mend, 79, 240
Ivanhoe, 162

I've been photographed like this, 194
Ivy Hall, 238
/ wish I was with Nancy. See Comic

Songs
Ixion, 10, 241

Jack Ashore (Alhambra ballet), 107

Jack Harkaway's School Days, 273

Jack Hark away at Oxford, 273

Jack Harkaway Afloat, 273

Jacks and Jills, 172

Jacobi, Georges, 87, 106

James, David, 240

James, Henry, 170, 171

James, Katie, 253

James's (St), Hall, 91

James's (St), Theatre, 75, 92

Jeanie Deans, 74

Jefferson, Joseph, 115, 223, 239

Jeffries, Ellis, 200

Jester, the King's, 139

Jeune, Lady, 27

Jim Crow, 119

Jingo, 100

Jo, 77

John Bull, 10

John Mildmay, 236

Johnny Ludlow, 274

Johnson, Dr, 4, 147

Johnson (The Dr) Tavern, 44

Johnson, E., 74

Johnson, Monsieur, 148

Johnson, Winifred, 270

Jolie Parfumeuse, La, 106

Jones, Henry Arthur, 263

Tones, Kennedy, 276

Josephs, Fanny, 235, 238

Judge and Jury, 12, 83

Judy, 275

Julia Mannering, in Guy Mannering,

Mrs Kendal as, 1 1
Juliet, 9 ; Stella Colas as, 79
Junior Garrick Club, the, 61
Just before the Battle, Mother, 120
Justice May, 150

K

Kahn's (Dr) Museum, 41
Kaiser, the, 148
Kate Kearney (Mrs Kendal), 11
Kate O'Brien in Perfection, Mrs

Kendal as, 11
Katrina (Empire ballet), 107
Kean, Charles, 79, 223
Keith, B. F., 54, 77, 78
Kelly, Father, 64
Kelly, Walter C, 167
Kemo, Kimo. See Comic Songs
Kendal, Mrs, 7, 10 ; as a vocalist, ii,

239
Kendal, W. H., 235
Kettle Club, the, 20
Kilyany's Living Pictures, 165
King of Clubs, the (Russell), 124
King George, 135
King Kodak, 249
King Lear, 9
King of the Claque, 134
King of Spain, Jerry as the, 248
King's Jester, the, 139
King's Road, 14
Kiralfys, the, 104, 131
Kissi-Kissi, 149
Knight, Joseph, 30
Knowles, R. G., 118, 124, 154, 213,

270
Knowles, Sheridan, 241
Koster and Bials, 78
Krao, 188

La ! Sonnamhula, 234

Labouchere, Henry, 77, 187

La-di-da. See Comic Songs

Lady Audley's Secret, 241

Lady of Lyons, The, 10

Lady Ptarmigant, 243

Lady Percy in Henry IV., Part I.,

Mrs Kendal as, 11
Lady Slavey, The, 206
Lady Teazle, Kate Vaughan as, 109
Lafayette, the great, 140
Lager in London, the first, 43
Lamb, Charles, 259
Lambert, the Brothers, 7
Lambert, Streyke, 148
Lancaster, John, 72
Lane, Harriet, 67
Lane, Mrs Sara, 63, 64, 65

294

INDEX

Lane, Samuel, 65

Langtry, Mrs, 76, 176, 194, 257

Lanner, Katti, 108

Larkin, Sophie, 238, 243

Lashwood, George, 38

Last Journey of Despair, 28

Lauder, Harry, 139, 208

Laura Leeson, 10

Laurent's Casino, 123

Lauri troupe, 14, 211

Laurillard, Edward, 206

Lawson, Mr Lionel, 247

Lawson, Sir Edward, 26

Leah Kleshna, 117

Leamar, the Sisters, 60

Lear, King, 226

Lederer, George, 117, 118

Ledger, Edward, 184

Ledger, Frederick, 184

Lee, Alf, 10 1

Lee, Jennie, 77, 199

Lee, Nelson, 74

Leicester House, 87

Leicester Square, 83, 277

Leigh, Henry S., 3, 68

Leisure Hour, The, 274

Leland, C. G., 3

Lemaitre, Frederic, 237

Leno, Dan, 41, 48, 56, 57, 118, 137,

138, 139, 262
Leonard, 69
Leonati, 211

Leotard, 84, 85, 210, 211
Leporello, 238
Leslie, Fred, 254
Leslie, H. J,, 228
Let Em All Come. See Comic

Songs
Lethbridge, Alice, 109
Leuville, the Marquis de, 181
Levenston, Michael, 255
Lewes, G. H., 24
Lewis, Cokey, 60
Lewis, James, 113
Lewis, Sam, 125
Lewis, Sir George, 150
Leybourne, George, 36, 37, 38, 41,

43. 53. 66, 93. 94. loi. I55. 211,

230
Life of Pleasure, A , 89
Lights of London, The, 11, 80
Lind, Letty, 109
Lingard, Miss, 91
Lingard, William (Horace), 36, 91,

242
Lion King, the, 258

Lisa, 235

List men, 33

Liston, Harry, 155

Little Don CcBsar, 248

Little Don Giovanni, 238

Little George (Dan Leno), 48

Little Jack Sheppard, 250, 254

Little Minister, The, 15

Little Treasure, The, 9

Litton, Marie, 74, 77, 187

Lloyd, Arthur, 37, 41, 92, 93. 94.

98, 136, 137, 155, 242
Lloyd, Marie, 48, 49, 67, 137, 214
Lochinvar (Alhambra ballet), 107
Loftus, Cissie, 95, 150, 214

Loibl, E., 41, 53

Londesborough, Lord, 124, 223
London to Paris, 164

London backwater, a, i

London catch words, 98

London Coliseum, the, 44, 136, 137,
148, 208, 231, 232

London County Council, 70, 78, 87,
190, 191

London Day by Day, 208

London Figaro, The, 29

London General Omnibus Company,
6

London Hippodrome, 44, 160, 161,
209

London Idol, 58

London Journal, 273

London Opera House, the, 72

London Pavilion, the, 40, 41, 42,
43. 53. 55, 58, 78. 94. 95. 97. 124,
139, 242

London Reader, 273

Long's Hotel, 41

Lonnen, E. J., 252, 253

Lope De Vego (the) of Adelphi
farce, 25

Lord Dundreary, 241

Lord Ptarmigant, 238

Loseby, Constance, 106

Lost theatres of London, 70

Lotos Club, the, 124

Louis XI., 9

Love's Sacrifice, 11

Lowe, Mr Robert, 147

Lowenfeld, H., 173

Lucas, Seymour, 227

Lulu, 187, 211

Lumiere, 261
Lumley, Ralph, 260
Lundberg, Ada, 58
Lunn, Kirby, i6i

295

INDEX

Lusitania, 114

Lutz, Meyer, 250

Lyceum Theatre, the, 26, 74, 105,

115, 169, 171, 198, 199, 224, 225,

226, 230, 239, 246
Lyons Mail, The, 227
Lyric Club, 124

Lyric Theatre, the, 71, 163, 218, 246
Lytton, the Earl of, 80

M

Macaulay, 17

Macbeth, 11, 144

Maccabe, Frederick, 156, 157

M'Clellan, C. M. S., 117

Macdermott, G. H., 41, 43, 94, 95,

100, 212
Macdonald of The Times, 5
M'Dougall, Sir John, 191
Mackay, Charles, 154
Mackenzie, Morell, 26
Mackney, the great, 58, 91, 92, 155
Macomo, 258
Macready, W.S,, 115, 194
Macready riots, the, 115
Macs, the two, 212
Maddick, Dr Distin, 82, 245
Madeleine {in B elp he gor), 10
Mahomey (Bessie Bellwood), 55
Maid and the Magpie, 10
Major Galbraith, in Rob Roy, 9
Man Fish, the 14
Man Fly, the, 14
Manders's menagerie, 258
Mann, Dick, 20
Mansell, Richard, 149
Mansfield, Richard, 116
Mansfield Flower Show, 17
Mapleson, Colonel, 72, 108
Margaret Elmore in Love's Sacrifice,

Mrs Kendal as, 11
Margherita (Alhambra ballet), 106
Marguerite, Gautier, 29, 172
Maria, Mrs Kendal as, in George

Barnwell, 10
Marius, 252
Marks, Harry, 169
Marney, Lily, 59
Marriage, 150
Married Life, 10
Marriott, Miss, 74, 241
Marseillaise, the, 105
Martin, Fred, 268
Mary and John. See Comic Songs

Marylebone Gardens, 4
Marylebone Music Hall, 51
Marylebone Theatre, 73, 74
Mary Thornbury in John Bull. Mrs

Kendal as, 10
Masetto, 238
Mathews, the elder, 154
Mathews, Charles, 241
Mattel, Tito, 107
Matthews, Julia, 106
May, Edna, 117
May Edwards in The Ticket-of-Leave

Man, Mrs Kendal as, 11
May, Pliil, 222, 223, 275
Maynard, A., 48, 143
Maurice, H. J., 144
Mazeppa, 75

Meadows, Drinkwater, 249
Melusine (Alhambra ballet), 106
Menken, Adah Isaacs, 75, 76, 241
Mephisto, 252, 253
Mercers' School, 4
Merchant of Venice, The, 10
Mercutio (Wilson Barrett), 80
Merivale, Herman, 199
Merritt, Paul, 13, 69, 223, 224
Merry War, The, 106
Merry Widow, The, 205, 228, 255
Metropole Theatre, 73
Metropolitan Board of Works, 41
Metropolitan Music Hall, 36, 104
Meyerbeer, 240
Micawber, 248
Middlesex Music Hall, 46, 47, 48,

49, 104
Mikado, The, 148
Milburn, Annie, 95
Mildmay, John, 236
Milk for the Twins. See Comic

Songs
Millais, J. E., 186
Milliner Duchess, The (Empire

ballet), 107
Million, The, 276
Million of Money, ^,174
Mind the Paint Girl, The, 151
Mind you inform your Father. See

Comic Songs
Mirth, 275
Modern Eve, A, 28
Modjeska, Madame, 21, 29, 80, 172
Moet and Chandon. See Comic

Songs
Mogul Tavern, 46, 48
Mahoney. See Bellwood
Mokeiana, 3

296

INDEX

Molesworth, Captain, 188, 191

Money, 168

Monte Christo (Empire ballet), 107

Montgomery, Walter, 9, 10, 74

Montmartre, 46

Montrose, the Duchess of, 151

Moonshine, 275

Moore, Augustus, no, 174, 175, 176,
201, 204

Moore and Biurgess Minstrels, 120

Moore, G. W., 120, 121

Moore, Mary, 200

Morgan, Matt, 3

Morley, Henry, 79, 244, 272

Morley's Universal Library, 272

Morning, The, 5

Morocco Bound, 202

Morris, Mowbray, 5

Mors et Vita, 263

Mortimer, James, 28, 29, 172

Morton, Charles, 32, 33, 35, 36, 38,
39, 45, 74, 86, 91, 164, 165, 166,
167, 210

Morton, Maddison, 25

Morton, Richard, 43

Moss Empires, 161

Moss, James, 159

Moss, Sir Edward, 139, 159, 160, 161

" Moss's," Edinburgh, 139

Moss and Stoll, 160, 161

Mother Goose, 52

Motto songs, 103

Motts, 123

Moulin Rouge, the, 127

Mouse Traps. See Comic Songs

M.P., 243

Mrs Lionel Lynx, Mrs Kendal as,, in

Married Life, 10
Mrs Fitzsmyth in The Nottingham

Ladies' Club, Mrs Kendal as, 11
Mulholland, J. B., 73
Munro, Viscount Walter, 58
Murphy Maguire, 236
Murray, David Christie, 6, 28
Murray, Henry, 176, 179
Music halls, growth in the provinces,

159
Music hall agents. See Agent
Music hall sketches, 50
Music hall strike the, 212
My Indian Garden, 177
My Lady Nicotine, 19
My Lady Nicotine (Alharabra ballet),

107
My Queen Waltz, 60
My Sweetheart, 202

N

Nadia (Alhambra ballet), 107

Nagel, Archibald, 211

Nan, in Good for Nothing, 54

Napoleon III., 29

Nash, Jolly John, 44, 94, 136, 137,

^243

Nathan, Ben, 151

Nation, W. H. C, 245

National Opera House, 72

National Sporting Club, 66, 124, 144

Nations, Les, 104

Negro minstrelsy, 118, 119, 120

Nell Gwynne Club, the, 126

Nerissa in The Merchant of Venice,
Mrs Kendal as, 10

Nesbitt, Mrs, 237

Neville, Henry, 25, 81, 242, 261, 262

New Babylon, 82, 224

New Club, 124

New Cut, The, 55, 60

New Scotland Yard, 72

New York, English visitors to, 54

New York Casino, 117

New York music halls, 77, 78

Newgate pastoral, a, 202

Newgate Walk, the, 4

Newnes, George, 276

Niagara, 187

Nicol (of the Cafe Royal), 88

Nicholson, Baron, 12, 14

Night Out, A, 11^

Nile Street, Hoxton, 64

Nina (Alhambra ballet), 106

Ninette in The Maid and the Magpie,

Mrs Kendal as, 10
Nisbetof The Times, 5, 6
Nisita (Empire ballet), 107
Nobleman's Son, The, 58
North London Collegiate School, 95
North Woolwich Gardens, 211
Not for Jo. See Comic Songs
Notes and Queries, 30
Nottingham Alhambra, the, 7, 8
Nottingham Guardian, The, 18
Nottingham Journal, The, 15, 16, 17,

18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23
Nottingham Ladies' Club, The, 11
Nottingham Theatre Royal, 7, 8, 9,

10, II
Nun nicer, 194

Odger, George, 99

Oh I Jeremiah. See Comic Songs

297

INDEX

Old China (Empire ballet), 107

Old Jew, An, 25

Old-time performers, 56

Oliver Twist, 68

Oliver Twist. See Comic Songs

O'Leary, Father, 64

Olympia, 163, 266

Olympic Theatre, the, 80, 81, 133,

241
On Brighton Pier (Empire ballet),

107
On the Bridge, 102
On the Heath (Alhambra ballet), 107
On the Ice (Alhambra ballet), 107
On the Sands (Alhambra ballet), 107
On the Square (Alhambra ballet}, 107
On Trial, 206
Once a Week, 274

Opera Bouffe, beginning of, 39, 74
Opera Comique, 71, 81, 176
Opera House, Hammerstein's,

London, 72
Opera House, the Royal English, 72
Orange Blossoms, 276
Ordered to the Front (Empire ballet),
107

Orfeo (Empire ballet), 107

Organiser of success, the, 134

Original Tootsie Sloper, the, 59

Orphee aux Enfers, 106

Ophelia, Mrs Kendal as, .10

Orton, Arthur, 99

Orietta (Alhambra ballet), 107

Osborne, Bernal, 18

Osborne, Bob, 33

Othello, 10, 116

Ouida, 211

Our Boys, 240

Our Crown (Empire ballet), 107

Our Flag (Alhambra ballet), 107

Our Flat, 82

Our River (Empire ballet), 107

Ours, 243

Owl, The, 168

Owl's Roost, the, 25, 237, 243

Oxenford, John, 25, 79, 241, 242

Oxford, the (music hall), 36, 38, 39,
42, 49, 164, 242

Oxford Fair (St Giles's), 269

Paddle your own Canoe. See Comic

Songs
Page, E. v., 96

Paget, Lord Alfred, 195
Pal 0' Archie, 166
Palace Theatre, 45, 72, 89, no, 116,
135, 141, 154, 164, 165, 166, 167,
209
Palladino, 107
Palm Club, 126
Palmer, Minnie, 20
Palmerston, 238
Pan, 275
Pandora, 87
Panopticon, 83, 84
Pantheon, 123

Papillons, Les (Empire ballet), 107
Paquita (Alhambra ballet), 107
Paragon Music Hall, the, 66
Paris Exhibition, The (Empire

ballet), 107
Parisian quadrille, the, 105
Parisiana (Alhambra ballet), 107
Park Theatre, the, 74
Parry, John, 154, 155
Parry, Sefton, 237
Parvenu, The, 172
Parthenon of Liverpool, the, 229,

230, 231, 232
Passing of the Third Floor Back, 121
Pastor, Tony, 54, 78
Pathe Fr^res, 268
Patience, 147
Patineurs, Les, 242
Patrick's, Soho, St., 122
Patti, 29
Paul, 236

Paul (of Leicester), 159
Paul, Mr and Mrs Howard, 156
Paul, R. W., 265, 266, 267
Pauline, Mrs Kendal as, in Delicate
Ground, 10 ; in The Lady of Lyons,
10

Paulton, Harry, 88

Paulus, 88

Pavilion Music Hall. See London
Pavilion

Pavilion Theatre, 63, 66, 6y

Pavlova, 109, 167, 198, 209

Payne, Edmund, 253

Payne, George Adney, 45, 145

Payne, Harry, 259, 260

Pearson, C. A., 276

Peel, Sir Robert, 119

Peggy, Kate Vaughan as, 109

Pemberton, Edgar, 235, 243

Penley, W. S., 219

Penny Paul Pry, The, 46

People, The, 278

298

INDEX

People's Caterer, the, 37, 57

People's Idol, the, 58

Perfect Cure, The. See Comic Songs

Perfection, n

Perichole, La, 106

Period, The, 276

Pertoldi, 107

Peter the Great, 87

Petersen (Gen6e), 108

Petite Mademoiselle, La, 106

Pettie, Miss (Edna May), 117

Pettitt, Henry, 13, 69, 89, 94, 95,

132. 133, 174. 224, 261, 262
Phelps, Samuel, 73, 74, 132, 242
Phenyl, Dick, 151
Philharmonic Hall (or Theatre), 39,

74, 165, 222, 224
Phillips, Kate, 199
Phipps, the architect, 80
Photography, stage, 193
Piccadilly Saloon, 123
Pick-Me-Up, 275
Pictorial World, The, 276

Picture palace, the ideal, 269

Pinero, Sir Arthur, 2, 244, 263

Pip and the Viscount, 194

Pitteri, 105
Pizarro, 9

Planche, J. R., 237
Planet, The, 276

Planquette, 221

Play, 243

Polly's Dilemma, 20

Polly wollyamo. See Comic Songs

Polytechnic, 84, 266

Pongo, 188

Pop goes the Weazle. See Comic
Songs

Poses Plastiques, 83, 229

Potash and Perlmutter, 206

Poule aux CEufs d'Or, La, 106

Power, Nellie, 96, 211

Practical John, 250

Press, The (Empire ballet), 107

Prince's Theatre, 71

Prince's Theatre, Manchester, 199

Prince of Wales. See Edward VII.

Prince of Wales's Club, 124

Prince of Wales's Theatre, 71, 150,
173, 185, 220, 234, 236, 237, 238,
241

Prince of Wales's Theatre, Liver-
poo), 237

Princess's Theatre, 9, 27, 73, 77, 79,
80, 172, 173, 238, 240

Princess of Trebizonde, 106

Private Secretary, The, 109, 220

Proctor, John, 275

Promise of May, The, 169, 170

Prout, Father, 55

Prowse, Geoffrey, 2, 3

Prudes on the Prowl, 88

Pryde, Peggy, 55

Psyche (Alh^mbra ballet), 107

Pulling hard against the Stream.

See Comic Songs
Punch, 3, 100, 166, 275

Q

Queen of Bohemia, 80
Queen of my Heart, 228
Queen of Spades (Alhambra ballet),

107
Queen of the Harvest waltz, 103
Queen's Jester, 258
Queen's Rooms, Greenock, 160
Queen's Theatre, 71, 77
Queensberry, the Marquis of, 169

Racketty Jack. See Comic Songs

Raherus, Prior, 185

Raleigh, Cecil, 164, 251

Ramsey, Scott, 148

Randall, Harry, 212

Rank and Riches, 172

Rasselas, 4

Rat-catcher's Daughter. See Comic

Songs
Ravenswood, 239
Rayne, Evelyn, 174
Raynor, Alfred, 66
Reade, Charles, 79, 240 '
Red Sleeves, The (Alhambra ballet),

107
Reed, Mr and Mrs German, 156
Reed, Mr John, 229
Reeve, Ada, 214

Reeves, Sims, 38, 39, 88, 92, 186
Referee, The, 5
Regency Theatre, the, 236
Regent Street, the virtuous end of,

205
Regular Randy Pandy Oh !
Rehan, Ada, 113
Reinhardt, Mattie, 9
Re jane, 23
Rentals, London theatre, 218

299

INDEX

Revolt of the Daughters, The (Alhiam-

bra ballet), 107
RevTie, 166
Rhodes, Cecil, 261
Rice (the minstrel), 119
Richard III., 262
Richardson's Show, 74, 266
Richlieu, 9

Richmond, the Sisters, 60
Rickards, Harry, 10 1, 158
Riding on a Donkey. See Comic

Songs
Ridler's Hotel, 3
Righton, Edward, 150
Rignold, William, 172
Rip Van Winkle, 223, 239, 254
Ritchie, Josiah, 192
Rivals, The, 244
Riviere's band, 105
Roh Roy, 9
Robbers, The, 9
Robert the Devil, 181
Robert Macaire (Empire ballet),

107
Roberts, Charles, 143
Roberts, Edwards and, 41
Roberts, R. A., 157
Roberts, Arthur, 203
Robertson, Madge, 9, 10, 11
Robertson, Mrs Ian, 30
Robertson, Tom, 3, 25, 82, 234, 236,

237. 239, 240, 243, 244 ; Mrs, 243
Robertson, Wybrow, 187, 188
Robertsons, the, 7
Robey, George, 135, 209, 213
Robinson, F. W., 62
Robinson, Phil, 177, 178, 179
Robson, the "great little," 35
Rock of Ages, 194
Rocky Road to Dublin. See Comic

Songs
Rodolpho, 235
Roi Carotie, Le, 105
Rollicking Rams, The. See Comic

Songs
Romanos, 60, 251, 255
Romeo, 9, 21
Roper, Lionel, 151
Rosa, Carl, 252
Rosati, 104

Rose d' Amour (Empire ballet), 107
Roselle, Amy, 88, 89
Ross, Adrian, 203
Ross, C. H., 275
Ross, W. G., 91, 124
Rothomago (Alhambra ballet), 106

Rotunda, the, 32

Round the Town (Empire ballet), 107

Round Tower, The, 164

Routledges, 272

Royal Aquarium, Westminster, the.

See Westminster Aquarium
Royal bears, the, 136
Royal English Opera House, 72, 126,

162, 163
Royal Music Hall, 36, 38, 43, 185
Royal visits to the music hall, 135
Royalty Theatre, 81, 219, 240, 241
Royce, Edward, 249
Ruddigore, 148

Rush, James Bloomfield, 273
Russell, Henry. 154
Russell, " King of Clubs," 124
Russell, Mabel, 200
Ruy Bias, 200
Ryder, John, 74

Sacred lamp of burlesque, the, 248
Sadler's Wells Theatre, 73, 74, 241
St James's Hall, 91, 120, 121
St James's Theatre, 75, 92, 130, 169,

170, 218, 241
St John, Florence, 82, 144, 164,

252
St Patrick's, Soho, 122
St Patrick's Day, 122
St Stephen's Review, 276
Sal Wiry, 150

Sala, George Augustus, no, 276
Salaman, Malcolm, 28
Salandra (Alhambra ballet), 107
Salaries of celebrities, 207
Salisbury, Lord, 278
Sal-oh-my (Alhambra ballet), 107
Saloon theatres, 65
Sam Hall, 91, 124
Sampson, the strong man, 189
Sampson, Henry, 6
Sanctuary, 4
Sandow, 188, 189
Sanger, Lord George, 58, 76
Sanger's amphitheatre, 76
Sanger's Circus, 136
Santley, Charles, 39
Santley, Kate, 76, 87, 106
Sara, Mademoiselle, 150
Sarah Bernhardt of the music halls,

the, 59
Sarcey, Francisque, 23

300

INDEX

Sassoons, the, 88

Saunders, Joe (George Leyboume),

37

Savage Club, 30, 177

Saville, Eliza, 8

Saville, Kate, 8, 9

Saville, Mrs J. F.,|8

Saville House, 87^;^

Savoy, 255

Savoy Theatre, 50, 71, 154, 198 j

Sayers, Tom, 37, 84, 238 jj

Scala Theatre, 82, 245

School, 243

School for Scandal, The, 241

Scotland Yard, New, 72 a 8^

Scott, Clement, i, 24, 25, 26, 29. 30,
35. 88, 173, 176

Scott, George, 90

Scott Ramsey (Oscar Wilde), 148

Scott's Restaurant, 41

Seaman, Isaac, 278

Seasons, The (Alhambra ballet), 107

Seaside, The (Empire ballet), 107

Secrets, 150

Secrets of the Harem, 150

Sedger, Horace, 163, 218

Serious Family, The, 2, 3

Seven Dials, 162

Seven Tankards and the Punch-
bowl, 36

Seymour, Katie, 109, 253

Shaftesbury Avenue, 73

Shaftesbury Theatre, 72, 91, 117

Shah of Persia, ''.88, 149

Shakespeare, 50, 113, 164, 227, 236,
240, 241, 242, 246, 248, 259

Shakespeare and Dickens, Holt's
" night with," 155

Shakespeare spelled ruin, 242

Sheard,^'ioi

Sheridan, R. B., 12, 174, 241

Sheridan's Bon Mots, 174

Sherrington, Louie, 96, 212

Shirley, Arthur, 23, 24, 69

Shirley, Madge, 88

Siddons, Mrs Scott, 9

Sidney Daryl, 236, 237

Sign of the Cross, The, 27, 28, 206

Silver King, The, 80

Simmonds, Harry, 66

Simple Country Maid, the, 58

Simpson, Mercer, 235
Simpson, Palgrave, 239
Simpson, T. B., 12, 14
Simpsons, 145
Sims, G. R., 261

Sinclair, Archdeacon, 26

Sinden, Topsy, 109

Singing Witch in Macbeth, Mrs

Kendal as the, 1 1
Sir Antony Absolute (Pinero's), 244
Sir Charles (in The Little Treasure),^
Sir Francis (in The Robbers^, 9
Sir Roger de Coverley (Empire ballet),

107
Sismondi, 88

" Sisters " in the music halls, 60
Sita (Alhambra ballet), 107
Sketch, 276
Sketchley, Arthur, 3
Slap Bang, here we are again

See Comic Soags
Slater, Charles Dundas, 90,fi95
Sleary, Mr, 176
Sleeper Awakened, The, 164
Sleeping Beauty, The (Alhambra

ballet), 107
SmifiF, O. P. Q. Philander, 29
Smith, Albert, 154
Smith, E. T., 14, 84, 183
Smith, H. Newson, 42, 44, 45, 145
Smith, J. C, 72
Smithson, Georgina, 96, 212
Society, 25, 234, 236, 237, 238, 239,
240, 242, 243, 244

Society (newspaper), 276

Society Butterfly, 176

Soho Square, 182

Soldene, Emily, 73, 106

Soldiers of the Queen (Alhambra
ballet), 107

Song of Sixpence, A, 179

Sonnhammer, 41

Sons of Britannia, 273

Sophia, Annie and, 156

Sorcerer, The, 202

Sothern, E. A., 237, 241

Soutar, Robert, 248

South London Music Hall, 104, 185

South Square, Gray's Inn, 2

Sparkling Moselle. See Comic
Songs

Spectresheim, 106

Spencer, Edward, 251

Spencer, Herbert, 233

Sporting Times, 60, 204, 250, 251

Sports of England (Empire ballet),
107I

Spurgeon, C. H., 185

Squire, The, 244

Stahl, Rose, 116, 167

" Stalled Ox," 204

301

INDEX

standard, The, 190

Standard Theatre, 63, 67, 68, 182

Stanfield Hall, 273

Standing, Herbert, 88

Staple Inn, 4, 5

Stead, The Cure, 38

Stead, W. T., 276

Stephens, Pottinger, 250, 251, 263

Sterling, Mrs, 74

Stevens, Alfred Peck (Alfred Vance),

92
Stoker, Bram, 26, 224, 225
Stoll, J. G., 229
StoU, Oswald, 47, 229, 333
Stone, George, 252
Strand Theatre, the, 38, 71, 72, 81,

113, 116, 240, 248
Strand, the, 42, 44, 45, 80, 81, 83,

149, 246
Strand Magazine, 276
Strand Music Hall, the, 44, 243, 247
Strange, Frederick, 86, 104
Stranger, The, 10
Strathlogan, 173
Stratton, Eugene, 213
Streets of London, The, 79
Stukeley (in The Gamester), 9
Sublime Porte, the, 150
Suburban theatre, growth of the, 73
Sullivan, Gilbert and, 71, 81, 154,

202
Sullivan, J. F., 3
Sullivan, Sir Arthur, 135, 162, 186,

205
Sun, The, 278
Sun Music Hall, Knightsbridge, the,

93

Sunday Times, The, 1, 3, 31, 174, 175,
177, 178, 179, 180, 181, 182, 183,
184

Supper Club, the, 126

Surrey Theatre, the, 63, 68, 73

Sutherland, the Duke of, 87

Sutton, Henry, 145

Swanboroughs, the, 81, 82

Swanborough, Ada, 240

Swans, The (Alhambra ballet), 106

Sweeney Todd, 235

Sweet Lavender , 71, 220

Sweet Nellie's Blue Eyes, See Comic
Songs

Sweet Violets. See Comic Songs

Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 5, 26

Syers, 42
Syndicate, the, 42

Talbot, F. A., 270

Tame Cats, 168

Taming of the Shrew, The, 164

Tanner, J. T., 202, 203

Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay. See Comic

Songs
Taylor, Tom, 80
Telegraph, The Daily, 26, 173, 178,

179, 247, 250
Tempest, Marie, 19, 200, 209
Temple Bar, 274

Temptation (Alhambra ballet), 107
Tennyson, Lord, 169, 170
Terriss, William, 171, 227
Terry children, 79
Terry, Edward, 44, 71, 220, 248, 249
Terry, Ellen, 77, 141, 227, 257
Terry, Kate, 242
Terry's Theatre, 71
Thackeray, W. M., 44, 119, 169
Thalia Club, 126
There's 'Air. See Comic Songs
They're all very fine and large.

See Comic Songs
Thomas, Brandon, 220
Thomas, Moy, 30
Thompson, Alfred, 276
Thompson, Lydia, 81, 117, 194
Thompson, William (Bendigo), 19
Thome, Thomas, 240
Thornton, Richard, 160
Three Weeks after Marriage, 241
Tich, Little, 213
Tichborne, Sir Roger, 99
Ticket-of -Leave Man, The, 11, 25, 69,

80, 81
Tilley, Vesta, 58, 214
Tilly Slowboy, 260
Time Tries All, 10
The Times (play), 220
The Times (newspaper), 5, 25, 75, 79,

100, 220, 242, 248
The Tivoli Bier Garten, 43
Tin Can, Barnard's, 231
Tipper ary, 100

Titania (Alhambra ballet), 107
Tit-Bits, 276

Tivoli, the, 42, 43, 44, 45, 165
Tom Stylus, 236
Tom Thumb, 257
Tom Wildrake, 273
Toole, J. L., 35, 71, 74, 248, 259.

260, 261, 262
Toole's Theatre, 31, 71, 81

302

INDEX

Tooral-laddy. See Comic Songs
Topical Times, The, 251
Traviata, 29
Tree, Sir Herbert, 30, 50, 130, 148,

209
Trewey, 186, 266, 267
Trial of Effie Deans, The, 75
Tribune, The, 278
Trilby, 50

Trocadero, 78, 123, 124
Troy, legends of, in burlesque,

240
Truefit's, 181
Truth, 275
Turner, Sallie, 88
Two Flags. The (Alliambra ballet),

107
Two Girls of Good Society. See

Comic Songs
Two Lovely Black Eyes. See Comic

Songs
Two Roses, 13
Tyburn, 4
Tzigane, The (Alliambra ballet), 107

U

Under One Flag (Empire ballet), 107

Under the Clock, 166

Up in a Balloon. See Comic Songs

Urban, Charles, 267

Used Up, 241

Vagg, Samuel. See Collins, Sam

Valentine, 252

Vance, Alfred, 44, 58, 92 ; his death

on the stage, 93. I37' I55
Vanity Fair, 149, 275
Vaudeville, the, 172, 240, 246
Vaughan, Kate, 14, 69, 109, 124,

249, 253
Vaughan, Susie, 14
Vauxhall, 11, 12, 14, 33
Venne, Lottie, 11, 257
Venus, 240

Versailles (Empire ballet), 107
Vert-Vert, 149

Vestris, Madame, 80, 226, 239
Vestris, William (minstrel), 136, 164
Vezin, Herman, 74
Victoria and Merry England (Al-

hambra ballet), 107
Victoria, the Princess, 259

Victoria, Queen, 8, 119, 136, 175,

176, 258, 259
Victoria Theatre, the, 68
Viennese music, 205
Vigilance Society, the, 190
Village Coquettes, The, 155
Villains at the Vic, 68
Villiers, Edward, 42
Villiers, Lizzie, 59
Villikins and his Dinah. See Comic

Songs
Vincenti, 107

F««e/awrf (Empire ballet), 107
Vining, Henry, 79, 240
Vital Spark, the. See Jenny Hill
Vocal Spark, the, 58
Vokes Family, 211
Volante in The Honeymoon, Mrs

Kendal as, 10

W

Wainwright, Henry, 67

Wait till the Turn of the Tide. See

Comic Songs
Waldorf Theatre, the, 72
Walking in the Zoo. See Comic Songs
Wallett, W. F., 258, 259
Wallis, Ellen Lancaster, 72
Waltz Dream, The, 228
Wanted a Governess. See Comic

Songs)
War, 243

War, the Franco-German, 243
Ward, Artemus, 2
Wardropers, the, 156
Wardroper, Walter, 88
Warner, Charles, 74, 262
Warner, Mrs, 73, 74
Warren, Ernest, 275
Warren, Minnie, 257
Watch Cry, The, 239
Watch on the Rhine, .The, 105
Waterloo Club, the, 126
Watts, Theodore, 26
Watts, Walter, 80
We Don't Want to Ftght. See Comic

Songs
Webster, Ben, 74, 128, 129
Weldon, Mrs Georgina, 263
Wellesley, Colonel Fred, 124
Wellington, the Duke of, 41
West, Mrs Cornwallis, 194
Westminster Aquarium, 76, 135,

185, 186, 187, 188, 189, 190, 191,

192, 211

303

INDEX

West London Theatre, the, 236
Wesleyan Methodists and the

Aquarium, 76, 185
Weston's Royal Music Hall, 36, 74,

242
When a Man's Single, 16
Where did you get that Hat ? 98
Where's the Cat, 147, 172
Whirlwind, The, 175
Whistler, J. M'N., 174, 175, 177
White, Arnold, 6
White Cat, The, 105
White City, the.
White Lion, the, 36
White Pilgrim, The, 199
Whitechapel murders, 67
Whitehead, Fanny, 89
Whitehall Review, The, 275
Whitney Theatre, 72
Whittington, 106
Whole Hog or None, The. See

Comic Songs
Wicked World, The, 147
Wieland, Harry, 190
Wigan, Alfred, 80
Wigan, Horace, 247
Wilde of the Alhambra, 84, 86
Wilde, Oscar, 147, 148, 170
Wilde, Willie, 26
Wilhelm, 108
William IV., 236
Williams, Arthur, 252
Williams, Bransby, 155
Williams, Percy, 54
Willing, James, jun., 182
Wilmot, Charles, 224
Wilton, Marie, 82, 234, 235, 236, 237,

238, 240, 243, 244
Wilton, Sara, 65
Winchester, the, 32
Wine, songs about, 93

Winter Garden, New York, the, 75

Winter's Tale, A , 79

Wiry Sal, 150

Within the Law, 200

Wood, Matilda. See Marie Lloyd

Woodin's (William), Carpet Bag, 81,

154
Wolf in Sheep's Clothing, A, 242
Wolseley, Lord, 30
Wolsey, 227

Wombwell's Menagerie, 136
Wonderland, 65
Wood, Mrs Henry, 274
Wood, Mrs John, 260
World, The, 3, 26, 168, 175, 179, 275
Wot Cheer, Ria ? See Comic Songs
Wright, Haidee, 27
Wycherley, 113
Wyndham, Sir Charles, 71, 81, 172,

262
Wyndham 's Theatre, 71

Yardley, William, 250, 251

Yates, Edmund, 3, 29, 168, 169, 175

Yolande, 106

York Corner, the, 62

Young, Charles, 240

Young Men of Great Britain, 273

Zangwill, Israel, 275

Zazel, 187, 188, 211

Zazel ! Zazel ! See Comic Songs

Zerlina, 238

Zceo, 189, 190, 191

Zulus. Farini's, 188

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027800067

016^31981